Child of the Games
by StarPotterTwilightHunger
Summary: I normally don't write stories in stages, but this idea ran away from me once I started planning it! With this first bundle of ten, I am only a little under a quarter complete now. The subject is this: Katniss is pregnant. The father is gone. What will she do? Please review, and I will try to update as soon as I am able; school comes first and plans to be busy! Enjoy, and REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1: Katniss is Bedded

**Chapter 1: Katniss is Bedded**

The night is cool and warm out here in the woods.

Overlooking our favorite view, my best friend Gale and I watch the moon shine in the sky. Gale suddenly turns to me, and even with the moonlight shining on his face, I know what's on his mind.

Tomorrow is the reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. And he very well could be picked.

"Catnip, in case I am picked tomorrow, I need to tell you something."

I smile at his unusual forwardness - and smiling is unusual for me. "What?"

"I love you."

I don't know what to say. But Gale evidently does not want me to say anything, for he suddenly bends down, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.

My eyes widen, and I think I make some choked squeak in the back of my throat. My whole body stiffens in shock. I literally don't know what to do. No man has ever kissed me before. And what do I feel for the man whose lips now dance across my frozen ones? I am unsure.

But this is Gale - the one person other than my little sister, Prim, whom I know would never hurt me. So something in my brain clicks, telling me, _Go ahead. Kiss him back._

So I do. I'm no good at it. My mouth slips awkwardly against his and I cannot seem to find my own rhythm. But I trust that Gale will show me what to do.

Pretty soon, our lips are one, moving in tandem in a very easy give-and-take. I feel Gale easing me backwards, towards the grass. At one point, he artfully lifts me with the one hand now on the small of my back and shifts me in reverse a few feet along the grass until we are lying on the picnic blanket we brought along. I prop myself up on my elbows, determined to not lose contact with him, but pretty soon, he is gently pushing me back down until he is lying on top of me.

Gale settles between my legs and I feel him nudging my father's hunting jacket off of my shoulders. I surprise even myself with my own boldness as I help in its removal, then my blouse, then my pants. Gale only needs slight assistance in stripping himself.

The rational part of my brain tugs at me. Why are we doing this? Is it wrong? These are feelings I have never felt before - scary and new. Why indulge them when you could get burned? These are thoughts that have dictated my cautious nature all of my life, only now they are drowned out by a more powerful chorus: that of boldness and lust.

Gale resettles himself between my thighs, before burying his face in my neck, suckling the flesh there. I whimper like a baby. Only that is soon replaced by the pinching tear of flesh as an unfamiliar organ - Gale's penis - penetrates the most sacred spot upon my body. I can only stare up at the stars above, letting out a strangled gasp. What it takes to…. accommodate him is too much!

Or so I think. A few moments pass before I am used to the feeling of my best friend inside of me. He stays perfectly still, giving me a look that seeks my permission to continue. I grant it with a determined nod of the head.

Gale begins to roll his hips into mine, slowing building up a thrusting motion. In and out, in and out, he goes. With every reunification of our sexual areas, the pleasure builds within me, spreading from my heart to my stomach to the tips of my toes and, finally, the apex of my core.

Before long, Gale is pounding into me with a vigor, me clawing at his sweating and rippling back while I babble words that must sound like English to him, given his silent adjustments, but not to my own ears pounding with blood.

Even in this roaring world of passionate coitus, my hunter's instincts can at last hear Gale's breathing become shallower, more desperate. His thrusts into my vagina become more wild. At last -

"Uhhhhhhhhh!" Gale shakes like a leaf in the wind and flops on top of me, just as unfamiliar liquids explode into my center, tickling the nervous spots there.

We are sweaty, panting, the picnic blanket bunched up thanks to our violent motions; some of it is even clutched in my fists. Gale finally pulls out of me and rolls onto his side, allowing my lungs to fill with air once more.

Muscles aching, my body shaking with pleasure and slight chill, we dress and walk back to our homes, parting ways at my door where Gale dares to give me one last kiss - a very passionate one in which I can do nothing but lie limp in his arms.

And the most frightening thing of all is….. I hope that he does not get Reaped so we can have more nights like this one.


	2. Chapter 2: Horrible Mistake

**Chapter 2: Horrible Mistake**

The weeks after Gale's departure are pure agony.

I should have known he would be reaped. The odds are never in my favor, never in anyone's favor!

It was only small comfort that I was one of the first to say goodbye to him, though I barely got even that. Gale only had time to instruct me in snares to use, how to journey on feeding our families - and to kiss me one last time - before the Peacekeepers came to drag me out.

At first, I sob into my pillow every night, my insides constricted with tears. Then, something else invades me: nausea.

I think nothing of it at first, believing I have contracted just a bad stomach bug from someone in town. Seam people are always ailed with some form of sickness. But when it happens again and again with increasing regularity until I am throwing up after every rapidly rarer meal (any game has proved elusive since my world turned upside down), a horrid thought strikes me. I think back to the night I spent with Gale in the woods, just before the Reaping. Oh, God, no! I can't be…. can I?

Being the daughter of a Healer and former apothecary, I could always ask my mother for a test at no extra cost to myself. I quickly rule this out as foolhardy. There may be no monetary cost, but the cost of my mother understading immediately why I would be asking her is too much to bear. And even if she asked why, I couldn't lie to her.

So, I go with the second-best option. I may not be able to lie to my mother, but I can lie to the apothecary in the Merchant district.

The shop run by my maternal grandfather closed long ago, not long after his passing. I don't remember anything about the man; I was a toddler at the time, Prim not born yet. So when I ask for a pregnancy test from the new, younger apothecary, I have no qualms about lying and saying it is for a patient of my mother's and we are all out of stock. He does not ask questions, simply hands it to me, in exchange for one bushel of fresh strawberries. I walk home with the test in my pocket, returning quickly to my room before locking the thing in a desk drawer and waiting for an opening.

It comes the next day when Mother and Prim have to see to a patient on the other side of town. As soon as they have left, I grab the test, lock myself in my bathroom, and read the instructions. I pee on the stick, before placing it on the floor, far away from me as if it is diseased. And now I wait.

More than the required five minutes have passed before I will myself to have a look. And what I see sends my world crashing down.

I am pregnant. With the baby's father fighting for his life in the Hunger Games.

By the time Prim and Mother come home, I have proven unable to stop the wailing, and they find me in the bathroom. I have no choice but to tell them, and they console me, letting me cry my eyes out even as they begin their own sobs of grief. All the while, Mother asks, "Why, Katniss? Why?"

I cannot tell her. It is too hard for me to put into words, and I have never been very talented at verbal communication anyway. So, all Mother asks after we have calmed ourselves down enough is, "So…. what are you going to do?"

That answer is surprisingly easy. "I will have the baby. Gale deserves to leave something of a legacy behind. Especially if….. he dies. Even if…. he'll never know his child." I am about to start another round of hysterical crying, I know it, but Mother saves me.

"And if he wins?"

I have given less thought to this scenario. Simply, because it seems impossible. District 12 has only had a pathetic two Victors in 73 years, with the last win happening nearly a quarter-century ago. With those statistics, Gale's chances this year are next to zero.

But not _exactly_ zero. If, by some miracle, he _did_ win…..

I gulp. "I'll…. marry him. The baby deserves a full, loving family. And Gale has always wanted to be married and have kids." Those have not been _my_ wants - fear of what children meant, especially in this world, has always held me back. But, if Gale emerged victorious, he would need someone to support him and help him cope with what happened in the arena. Therefore, I will sacrifice my wants and needs for his.

All that can be done now is to watch and wait. To see if Gale's and my child will grow up with a father, or without one.


	3. Chapter 3: Public Defender

**Chapter 3: Public Defender**

The 74th Hunger Games are in their third week.

And I have never been more terrified in all my life.

We are now down to the Final Five tributes, and my baby's father is remarkably still living. Even more amazing, so is his district partner, Delly Cartwright. The other three competitors are District 2's Cato, the last living Career and a brute of a killer, District 11's Thresh, a dark-skinned boy who is just as imposing, and District 5's girl whom I have taken to nicknaming Foxface. She does not fight, preferring instead to sneak and steal and flee when and where it suits her.

Back home, the Games play at all times, even when we are in school. It is only turned off of mute when something important is happening. So, I try my best to listen to my teacher while occasionally looking at the projector playing the Games on the back wall, watching Gale struggle to come home.

Nothing significant has happened for several days. No battles, no Feasts, no Gamemaker traps. With each hour that passes, I can't help but dread that something horrible will happen soon and my hunting partner's luck will finally run out.

My only ally, it seems, is the far-away presence of Haymitch Abernathy, our district's last and only living Victor. He's a legend in his own right, winning the Second Quarter Quell at the age of 16, but he has become more well-known for his drunken antics. Little wonder our tributes never make it this far, let alone win. But this year, he had better the hell be doing all he can to pull out a win for our district.

"Mrs. Munger!" A classmate interrupts the lecture to point to the screen. Something's happening! I spin in my seat, my hand instinctively going to my abdomen and the baby just within. Voices murmur as Mrs. Munger practically sprints to the back of the room and turns up the volume.

It is night in the arena, but by the light of the moon, we can see that Thresh has caught Foxface trying to steal something near his fire. She has nowhere to run this time. Thresh grabs her by the neck and twists it in an instant. She falls, the cannon sounding rapidly after. BOOM.

My heart speeds up. _Four tributes left…_.

It is raining now, but even behind the sheets of water and the surrounding darkness, we can see Cato suddenly leap out of the shadows and now engage Thresh in a fierce duel. It is furious, desperate, one of the most anticipated showdowns in this year's Games. I have no idea who I want to win, as either one could be a real threat to my love.

"I guess it's too much to hope that they simultaneously destroy each other?" a voice asks the room at large. It is Peeta Mellark, the baker's son. Several friends laugh nervously at what is obviously a joke, and clap him on the back.

I want to glower at them. Nothing about this is funny at all. But then I realize that by asking that, they all really do want District 12 to win.

Peeta's hope is in vain, however, as Cato at last subdues Thresh in a dramatic final beatdown. Another cannon sounds.

I try to hide the shaking that threatens to take over my body. Though a tough choice, Cato is probably the worst of the two to come out of this fight, and I pray that Gale or a Gamemaker mutt gets the last Career first.

I look down at my belly, which I still have a grip on. This is too much. The stress of watching my baby's father fight to the death….. what if it endangers my pregnancy?

Meanwhile, thinking the action is over, Mrs. Munger is reaching for the remote to mute the TV.

"No!" someone calls. "Something else is happening!" Howls are heard as the camera cuts over to Gale and Delly - allies all the way through the Games and probably will be to the bitter end. Wolf-like mutts are chasing them through the midnight forest, driving them out of the safety of the trees and to the meadow that holds the Cornucopia. Ingeniously, both scale it to avoid the beasts.

Trouble is, someone else has thought of the same thing.

Cato attacks ruthlessly, quickly knocking Delly to the ground and dazing her before going for Gale. I am gripping the back of my chair so hard, my knuckles are turning white. _Please, please, don't let him die…. please God…._

Gale is thankfully able to hold his own in hand-to-hand combat, but I don't know how long he will last. Thankfully, Delly has roused herself and decided to serve as a distraction to let Gale find an opening in Cato's defenses. She leaps onto the Career's back like a monkey and holds fast. Cato swings his sword around and around, trying to hack at her, but Delly has effectively cut off his range of motion. Gale tries to move in, but is knocked back in the confusion by Cato. Having finally lost patience, the blond boy reels back and body-slams himself and Delly into the horn's metal, crushing her underneath him. She is killed instantly, and her body slips off the horn to the waiting mutts below as the cannon sounds.

People in my classroom are crying because of Delly's brave death and I even notice Peeta Mellark trying to fight back tears. I don't know much about the young baker, but I heard that he and Delly were childhood friends.

Gale and Cato are circling each other like the wolves who wait for either of them below.

"I thought you'd be my last kill, 12! You're the strongest from your district I've seen in years, and I've always loved a challenge!"

"Thank you for the compliment," Gale returns courteously. "I've worked hard to become so. But _you_ are _my_ last kill. Have you ever tasted arrow, Cato? I hear it's delicious!"

Classmates are now cheering encouragement. "Do him, Gale! Waste him!"

"GALE, DESTROY HIM!" I scream at the TV, ignoring the stares people give me for my unusually emotional-driven state.

But my prayer is in vain. Gale should not have brought a bow to a knife fight. He is loading the shot when Cato suddenly lashes out and slices through the weapon like it's paper. Gale lunges for his sword, but it is too late. Cato strikes him through and he crumples to the ground. The cannon fires.

"NOOOOOO!" I wail. So close. I was so close to having him back….. nooooo….. I am hyperventilating, clutching my stomach, ignoring the announcement of Cato's victory or the stares from the rest of my classmates. I can't do this! I run from their stares out the door, a minute before the bell rings to end class.

I am at my locker by the time some of the boys in class come up to me. They circle me, and one of them gets right in my face.

"So, he's the father, isn't he?" a boy named Axel accuses.

I refuse to look him in the eye. "I don't know what you're talking about," I reply as firmly as I can.

"Don't lie to us!" his friend, Coal, pipes up. "Violent emotions and crying fits! You may not be showing, but you're knocked up, good as the nose on my face!"

"Didn't know you were available," Axel sneers. "Hawthorne shouldn't have had the first crack at you; he had too many women…."

"You're lying!" I shriek at him.

"Wanna bet?"

"HEY!" Axel and Coal jump and move away from me so I can see Peeta stalking towards them. "Pick on somebody your own size!"

"That's a rich joke, Mellark, considering this one" Coal jeers, and he gestures at me.

"And _that's_ irrelevant!" Peeta shouts him down. "Leave her alone NOW!"

Axel and Coal disappear down the hall. There is a moment of silence where Peeta and I stand awkwardly. He finally speaks up as I shoulder my bag.

"I'm sorry about that. They mean no harm."

"Don't they?" I barely get out, trying not to cry. I walk away.

Of course, I can hear his footsteps following me all the way home, but I don't confront him until I am feet away from my house. "Is there something you want?" I ask.

"Yes…. I'd like to talk to you."

I cannot imagine why Peeta Mellark would want to talk to _me_. He never has before. So, I put up my usual guard. "I'd rather not," and I turn to go inside.

"I can help you, you know." It comes out desperately, which makes me turn back. "With your pregnancy," Peeta continues, once he sees he has my attention. "Now that Gale is gone…. somebody will need to help you get through it all. Trust me, I know enough from my mother."

It is a generous offer, but what motive would a Merchant boy have for helping a Seam baby that isn't even his? I can't find a reason, even as I stare in disbelief at Peeta's suggestion. I shake my head.

"My mother's a Healer, and she is perfectly capable of helping a girl through her pregnancy, thank you." I stride into my house and slam the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4: Propositioning Peacekeepers

**Chapter 4: Propositioning Peacekeepers**

I stand in front of Head Peacekeeper Cray's door for what seems like hours, my heart pounding, the bile threatening to rise in my throat. Unlike other times I have come here, to sell food to the more lax-than-normal Peacekeeper, I carry no hunting bag with me. I am not even in my father's jacket, instead dressed in a gun-metal gray shirt and sweatpants. My hair is long, left unbraided.

I cannot believe I am doing this! But I have no choice. Mother and Prim must eat. My child must survive. And with little luck in procuring game from the woods lately, I am left with no alternative. I finally will my fist to connect with the door's wood.

After a moment, the wrinkled face of Cray appears as the door opens. He blinks in surprise when he sees me. He knows who I am; we have spied each other often enough in the Hob. The surprise morphs into a grin that makes my insides clench. It's more of a sneer, and a leering one at that.

"And what can I do for you, huntress?" he drawls. Cray is also fully aware of my chosen trade; though technically illegal, he has more than once offered to let it slide if only I would grant him more nonconventional forms of 'payment.' Bribery of the highest order, and my pride had always demanded that I rebuff his advances.

Until now.

"I am sure you could do a lot of things for me," I reply in what I hope is my best seductive voice.

Cray blinks in surprise again, before disgusting delight appears on his face. "It's nice to hear you're so….open to suggestions," he purrs, and I wonder if he thinks this is some kind of trick. He glances around us to make sure no one is watching, before opening the door a little more and literally dragging me inside.

I have never been inside Cray's house before. It is as drab and dreary and cold as the man himself. We stop further into the foyer before Cray turns back to face me. He circles a finger in the air and I stare at him blankly, not understanding. Oh, God. Are we doing this now? No talking first? I steel myself to begin stripping, or for him to jump on me. But Cray doesn't move. He repeats the motion again and now I understand what he is saying. _Twirl for me_.

I spin in a circle lamely, hoping that my bare ability to do even this gives Cray enough of an excuse to throw me out of his house. I have never thought that I was anything to look at, despite coming from physically attractive stock. Nevertheless, Cray seems accepting of what I have shown him and now circles me, examining me from all sides like a zookeeper would an animal. He nods at last.

"Inexperienced, perhaps, but you'll do."

I wonder how he could possibly know this or make such an assumption, given that I know I have had _one_ sexual experience: Gale in the woods. I remember my womb and chance a glance down. There's a barely perceptible bump. But if my classmates could notice I was pregnant after only one month, surely Cray can too? That doesn't appear to be the case, however, and for this I'm relieved.

"I am so glad you finally gave in and came to see me," Cray murmurs in what he must think is a sexy voice; it's actually anything but. Yet I dare not laugh. I muster a shrug.

"It's the heat," I get out. "It makes one do crazy things."

"So can liquor from the Hob," Cray counters. He leans in close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath and whispers in my ear. "The things I could show you…."

And then, he suddenly seizes me by the waist. My hunter's instincts are to push him away, but it is too late to turn back now. Resistance would only lead to a beating, if not worse.

Finding purchase on Cray's chest for my hands, I bite the inside of my cheek as the Peacekeeper's own hands begin to wander dangerously low. He gropes my bum - quite accentuated in my gray sweatpants - heavily petting, caressing it in one fluid motion before cupping one cheek. Then the other.

Cray bends his face towards mine, and taking a deep breath, I permit him to kiss me.

I learn quickly that Cray is not a gentle lover. There is no tenderness in his kisses, only roughness, the insatiable need to be the one dominating the activities. His tongue is down my throat before I can make a noise, flicking around my teeth and own tongue like a slippery serpent.

I am thoroughly repulsed. I want to hurl vomit. But I dare not pull away. The only girls Cray will take are the ones who are submissive, who are too weak to stand up for themselves and their dignity. And though I pride myself on being both of those at all other times, I cannot now. Not in this moment. I have to play a part, and I have to play it well. But, to help myself cope, I decide to imagine that I am kissing somebody else, someone who I would _want_ to kiss, and be kissed by. I conjure an image of the only man who could ever fit that description. Gale.

"Mmmmm….." Closing my eyes and imagining that it is Gale, not Cray, in my arms, I drape my arms around the man's neck and kiss him back. My mouth bumps clumsily against his, just as clumsily as when Gale and I actually kissed. Then again, maybe that will keep up the ruse that I am 'inexperienced.'

Suddenly, I feel my one leg being raised to the man's waist. Next second, I am hoisted off my feet and I have no choice but to blindly wrap my legs around something, anything of his; my other senses tell me it must be Cray's waist.

Cray staggers forward and I feel myself bump into something hard - the wall - followed by a shattering of glass. Did we knock something off furniture? I cannot theorize an answer before I feel something else just as hard, now against my front.

But it's not the wall this time. It's…..

I groan, changing the tone to be a sexual one at the last second to hide my displeasure. I summon Gale back into my head, so I can pretend to feel something happy as the hard…. thing thrusts against my thankfully still-clothed center.

"Mmm! Mmm!" The sharp squeals elicited from me are involuntary, in time with Cray's dry-humping of me. I am steeling myself to have this taken to the next level when Cray suddenly slows in his attentions to me. His lips part away from mine, and I feel my feet returned to Earth. He releases me fully. I open my eyes.

Cray is looking away, breathing hard so that his chest heaves with each intake of air. I notice a huge bulge in his pants, one that - with each breath - seems to shrink.

I become worried that I have done something wrong, something to displease him. I jump when his eyes suddenly meet mine and he smiles that stupid grin again.

"You're learning. I am pleased with what you have allowed. I would like to see you again, Ms. Everdeen. I want to take you to bed. Tomorrow night. Midnight."

I nod. "Yes, sir," I rasp.

It takes all of my control to walk out of the house and sufficiently enough down the street before I break into a run.


	5. Chapter 5: All Debts Must Be Paid

**Chapter 5: All Debts Must Be Paid**

With shaking hands, I apply the lipstick. Fix the signature braid my mother has always done for me. Slip into the pretty blue dress from Mother's merchant days in the apothecary shop - the same one I wore to Gale's reaping.

I do not recognize the woman that stares back at me in the mirror. I am no longer a child…. then again, I have not been a child in a few weeks, since that night with Gale in the woods. And tonight will only remind me of my new status.

I look back at Mother and Prim, sleeping peacefully in the large bed they have taken to sharing. Will they miss me while I'm gone tonight? I sure hope not. What will they say, when they see the bag of coins come breakfast time? Mother might suspect just what it took for me to get it, but even if she does figure it out, she probably won't say. Prim - poor, sweet Prim! - won't know a thing. She'll only be happy to have a steady stream of food for the first time in weeks, blissfully unaware of what her sister gave away to make it so….

I step out into the steamy night and force my feet to walk in the direction of the Head Peacekeeper's house. It's in the center of town, so quite a trek from where I live in the Seam, but leaving now might guarantee that I am one of the first desperate girls at his door.

I stumble in my high-heeled boots and adjust the garter high up on my thigh, just under my dress - both also borrowed items from my mother. What will Cray say, if he does pick me? Oh, who am I kidding? He won't say anything. He said enough in our last meeting, what I have taken to calling "the interview." He'll jump right on me, probably, and do more to me than he did in our dry test run yesterday.

Just imagining what might happen is too horrible. That, combined with the cold, stings my eyes with tears and soon I am choking on the air I breathe. Hyperventilating is only a degree removed at this point. What if he likes what he gets from me, even if I know I will get nothing but a bag of coins in return? Will I become his slave, his mistress? Will he force me to marry him? And what will become of Gale's and my child once it is born? A protective hand instinctively reaches for my womb and my resolve suddenly hardens. No. Cray can have me, but he cannot have my child.

I can now see Cray's house in the distance and attempt to regain command over my feet. God, you would think I had visited him already! That I was returning home, doing what other girls have called the "walk of shame" - when a man has screwed you so hard that your legs are sore and tired.

The sudden light blinds me and I jump in fright, my body tightening like the animals that I hunt when they prepare to flee.

I have been halted in front of the bakery, only yards away from Cray's door.

"Katniss?" the voice is gentle, and even against the harsh light from the kitchen beyond, I stare with dead eyes into the face of Peeta Mellark. Not him again! He is smiling softly, as if he is pleased to see me. "What are you doing out here?"

He looks me up and down, and suddenly the smile is gone from his face. He sees the dress, the clumsy make-up job, the high boots that don't quite fit on me….

Then his eyes shift down the street and I want to cry. He knows.

"Katniss, no." he breathes.

Now would be the time to run. But I tarry in indecision for a moment too long, and have only just turned when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm.

"Let me go!" I gasp out, threatening to drown in the tears about to appear in my voice.

"No, please, no…." Peeta's voice is just as hoarse, and I am startled to wonder if he is crying too. But I don't have much time to find out as Peeta drags me into the alleyway beside his door.

We stay in the shadows there, catching our breaths. Only now am I aware that Peeta's hands are about my waist, his fingers brushing the small of my back. The nerves in my fingertips signal to my weary brain that my hands are now pressed against his chest. I stare up into his face, my expression slightly agape.

It seems as though we are frozen in time and it allows me to better examine every detail of Peeta Mellark. The blond curls. Strong chin. I peer closer, gazing into his eyes - eyes as blue as a summer sky…..

I can feel Peeta drawing closer to me as well. My eyes grow heavy. My mind seems to have switched off, as I cannot find the words to tell myself to stop now before…. we…. kiss….

Our lips are mere inches apart now. I am only just aware that his one hand has now moved and is absentmindedly playing with my braid, when a banging sound breaks the spell around us. Oddly still staying in our awkward embrace, Peeta and I peer around the corner to see Cray's door open, its light illuminating at least half a dozen girls, desperate like myself. The Peacekeeper glances up and down the street furtively. He sees the Mellarks' door left open, but must not think anything of it. I can tell he does not see us. Yet, he stays where he is….. as if he's waiting for something….

My throat catches. Is he waiting for me?

He must be, for after a moment, seeing I am not coming, he sighs and picks the next best girl, swiftly bringing her inside and slamming the door. The other girls stumble off into the night.

No. That was my one last chance and now it's gone! I won't come home with a bag full of coins for Mother and Prim. We will starve. We will die. My baby will die...

Now the spell is really broken, as I push against Peeta's chest angrily; he readily lets me go. "What do you think you were doing?" I hiss. "I needed that!"

Peeta shakes his head determinedly. "Katniss, Cray is the last thing you need. Trust me."

"How would you know?" I bite accusingly, and to me, it is more than a fair question. How _would_ he know? He doesn't know what's it like to starve. To feel there are no options left.

"Oh, believe me, I do. I've seen the girls leaving his place after their 'visits.' He's a _monster_." And I have never heard such venom in Peeta's voice, a boy known for his kind and sweet reputation.

Terror fills me, and I almost want to interrogate him for more details. What has he seen, coming out of that wretched house? Girls limping? Bloodied? Bruised? The only fear outweighing Cray's touch would have been what I felt like afterwards, or what might have been done to cause it.

"Wait here," and Peeta suddenly leaves me to go back inside, through the bakery door that leads to the alleyway. After a minute, he returns with a bag full of coins and presses it into my hand. I stare at it dumbly.

"Take it," he prompts, trying and failing to snap me out of my shock. I soon do, as my face hardens in indignation. I am reminded of Peeta coming to my defense in school and it only fuels my anger.

"Do you think I want your _pity_?" I spit. He blinks, perplexed. "I don't need you to save me!" I attempt to fling the money back at him, but Peeta stays my hand, forcing me to drop it to my side. His eyes are pleading.

"Katniss, if you won't help yourself, at least let me help you!" He begs. "I won't let you die!"

I stare at him. That I am dying is of no dispute here; I know it myself. I've seen it lurking behind the hungry eyes of my mother and sister. No, what is more debatable is Peeta's claim. Will he really? Will he _really_ not let me die? No one else has said that to me before, because no one else has _cared_ enough to. Another thought strikes me: does Peeta Mellark _care_ for me?

My eyes drift down to the money bag still clutched in my hand. My incredulity and confusion suddenly boil down into rage as I am reminded of what this bag means, what it symbolizes. This was supposed to be my earnings from Cray! Received after making a great sacrifice! I refuse to let this boy just hand it to me for free, when I have done nothing to get it! Though he is so sweet to do so…. No, I am not charity! I have to earn my keep.

And if not from Cray, then, at this point, anyone will do.

This is my last thought before I cast the bag to the ground and roughly grab Peeta's groin.

His cry out for help is muffled as I fiercely press my lips to his. My mouth slides against his with extreme incoordination. His mouth opens to mine in that brief moment before a sure attempt to spring free, and I shove my tongue deep within before he can, refusing to release my prey. It's awkward, I know, but I'm hoping that he knows as little as I do about making love. I've only done it once myself, and look where that got me!

Peeta finally breaks the kiss roughly, pushing my groping hand away. "No!" he croaks out, the word sent out into the night like a bullet after it has stayed jammed in the barrel of a gun. He lowers his voice, which trembles now. "You don't have to do that. I don't need that, and I don't want it."

"The fuck you don't," I snarl. "I know what the boys in school want. What Cray wants. I know what any man would pay for!" I stalk towards him, the predator in me just warming up, backing him into a literal corner of his house where he has nowhere to run.

"No…." but his protest is silenced by my hand ripping apart the waistband so hard, the clothing itself rips in two, at the seam right down the middle, almost perfectly in half at the zipper. Peeta releases a startled cry as I plunge my hand down his now-revealed underwear. I move in to kiss him again to silence his calls. I seize his manhood, expanding like a creature all its own despite his terror. I rub him faster, pumping my hand intensely and deliberately along the shaft again and again and again, willing the organ to grow. As I do so, I push my body up against his, rubbing my breasts along his toned muscles, my hips rocking into his pelvis. I have no idea what Peeta Mellark would want in an unforced sexual encounter, what he would like to see in a woman, but maybe this will calm him.

I liberate his lips from my own, his crotch from my hands and he takes a sharp breath. He is already traumatized; I can see it in the new way he looks at me, as if he has never seen me before.

But I know he can't feel as shamed as I do, as I drop swiftly to my knees before him and throw down his underwear, allowing his member to spring free from whence it came, like a snake ready to strike. It certainly is eager to be pleasured, even if its master is still not.

Taking a deep breath, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Gale and I never did this, so I feel I have nothing to offer or can't even manage much of what I do have. But judging from Peeta's reaction, it is enough - more than enough - to send him tumbling over the edge.

"Ohmmmmm! Ummmmmm!" Peeta claps his hand over his mouth, eyes wide as saucers and staring up into the night sky above us, willing to look anywhere but at me. Trusting him to keep himself quiet now, I begin to work my lips along his shaft - up and down, up and down, sucking him in as far as he will go, until his tip is touching the back of my throat. With every motion, my head bobs right along with his penis.

My hands now free, I gently cup his balls in my hands, holding them in the way that I might bring water to my lips at the well when no bucket is to be found. I massage them, fondle them, mold them in my palms, for the first time letting my actions become tender in their execution.

That is what begins the transformation, as I begin to forget why I am doing this in the first place. No longer does my appalled brain remind myself that I _have_ to do this, to earn the money Peeta has given away to me so freely. I begin to tell myself that I actually _want_ to do this. I want to pleasure this man who stands before me.

But why? Is it because he is not Cray? _That_ is most certainly true, even in the texture of his skin now activating my taste buds. The texture of the baker's son is rather surprising - smooth, warm, yet soft, despite the hardness of the organ it encases. I taste the faint hints of flour, even yeast; both smells seem to seep out of Peeta's pores. The smell of freshly baked bread….

Is it because of the kindness he has shown me, and I feel the only kindness I can possibly give him in return is a good blow? Is this to thank him? My thoughts return to the taste of him and I close my eyes, lolling my tongue out to lazily lick the upper reaches of his shaft. I know I am enjoying this _far_ too much, and I don't care.

"Mmmmm…" That sound definitely came from me, not from Peeta, a muffled rumbling sound of contentment deep within my vocal chords that is somewhat blocked by my maw being filled with cock. I let one hand off of his balls and slink it around him, running it down his handsome butt cheeks in the way Cray showed me yesterday. I caress it heavily, before cupping it, squeezing it.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain as hands grasp my head. I let out a strangled noise, afraid someone has caught us, the baker's witch of a wife perhaps. But no, it's Peeta's hands weaving themselves into my hair, nails digging into my scalp. He holds my skull in place as he begins to hump his pelvis frantically into my face. Down on my knees, I can see his legs trembling - a vibration that moves up into his center and along his member so that it seems to hum and pulse in my mouth. My eyes pop open and I panic as I begin to realize for the first time that I have no idea what is about to happen. Sure, we had been lectured on Planned Parenthood in school (lessons I obviously learned _real_ well. Yeah, right!) but ejaculation after oral sex was believed to be a concept better left untaught. For the first time in this whole ordeal, I want to free myself, except now I can't. What should I do? I breathe through my nose heavily. I return to my work. Oh, well. At this point, there is nothing left I can do but give Peeta _one_ ….. _more_ ….. _suck_ …. Whatever happens next, just let it come…..

And come it does, all at once. Peeta gives one final, violent shudder, then releases himself into my mouth. A torrent of thick, creamy liquid gushes into my mouth, quickly flooding it. I nearly choke, gag, before I finally get my throat to work again. If I had not forced myself upon Peeta, I know what he would want me to do now. So I obey. I do as he would bid and gulp down every last drop of what he gives me. The strange substance is the texture of milk, but does not _taste_ like milk. It tastes salty…..

When the last of Peeta's liquid offering has disappeared down my gullet, I slowly extract myself from his manhood. Peeta does not immediately flee, as I expected he might when I was finished with him, instead standing stock-still, allowing me to examine my handiwork.

The only traces signaling that I have been with him are his still-stiff, but rapidly shrinking penis, and the smeared red lipstick print ringing the middle of his shaft.

The only sounds in the night are those of my panting and Peeta's whimpers. I shakily stand and finally have the courage to look him in the eyes, only to discover Peeta is staring at me too, though warily.

My face hardens as I now grasp his shoulders, pushing him up against the wall of the bakery. Peeta's eyes fill with terror, as he takes my expression to be done out of anger and that therefore I must not have been pleased with the offering he gave me - neither the money nor the extorted cum. I give him no time to speak, as the lines in my face soften just slightly before I press my lips to his in one last kiss.

This kiss is as forceful as the other two I've bestowed - I want him to taste himself on my mouth - but at the same time, there is a tenderness present, buried beneath the surface. Despite how Peeta's whole being is tense against my own, I move and twist my lips deeper into his, the muscles in my jaw screaming in protest from working overtime.

I feel Peeta's fingers gently brushing my jawline, as if he wants to cup my chin in his hands, and I jump. Wait…. is he finally responding? Does he mean to kiss me back? I do not wait to find out, nor do I want to, so I spring away.

Guilt crashes over me at last like a wave as I stumble out of the alley, not even saying goodbye to Peeta and barely remembering to take the money bag with me. I should feel satisfied, proud even, for I did what I came here to do after all - earn and receive payment while accepting no handouts. Instead, I feel nothing but shame. I have ruined that poor boy's life! And mine!

Little do I know what the implications behind my actions will lead to.


	6. Chapter 6: Mattress Surfing

**Chapter 6: Mattress Surfing**

I refuse to leave my bed all the next morning, so consumed am I by the guilt of my actions. Mother and Prim are obviously concerned, but once I fib and say that I am feeling ill, they do not press me further.

Should I do something about the dilemma I now find myself in? Should I go to Peeta, fall to my knees, in a gesture of a very different kind, this time to beg his forgiveness? If so, how should I go about it? Will he even accept my apology?

Or, an even more horrifying scenario: will he come hunting for me? Expecting an apology? Or will he punish me, turn me over to the Peacekeepers?

These are the thoughts that pervade my mind, when in late afternoon, I hear my mother answer the door from downstairs.

"Oh, yes, dear, she's in her room…."

I begin to violently shake. Somehow, I can feel that it is him, come to exact his judgment upon me. I leap out of bed and retreat to my vanity at the far end of the room, trying and failing to calm the beating of my heart. I can only think the words I thought just before Peeta ejaculated into my mouth. _Just let it come…._

The door opens, and inside steps Peeta himself.

Carrying an air mattress.

I stare at him, perplexed. If he is here to kill me, an air mattress sure is an odd choice for a weapon. Or does he mean to throw me down on it and rape me, have _his_ way with me now, instead? I eye him warily, shame coursing through me.

"What do you want?"

Peeta draws his face into a grim line. "I came to see you."

I can only stare at the floor. "I can't imagine why you would want to come see me. After…." It need not be said, for the rest hangs in the air like thick smog. After last night. When I visited the baker's son.

Peeta must understand all of these words unspoken, for out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod his head. "I forgive you."

I meet his eyes, speechless, forgetting for a moment that I am a creature worthy of shame. "You do?"

"Katniss, you are obviously stressed. Unable to find sufficient food, mortified at the prospect of selling yourself, unwilling to let your pride go. _And_ you're with child. Anyone would have snapped, in your situation."

I am floored. Who is this young man who can read exactly what I am feeling, even more than I might understand my emotions myself? I shake my head to clear these thoughts.

"So who advised you to come with the air mattress, then?"

Peeta frowns, puzzled, and for a moment there is a disconnect between us. Wait….

I peer at him. "You haven't told a soul, have you?"

Peeta nearly lets out a bark of laughter. "About last night? No. Why would I?"

I can think of a few reasons. All the boys at school would freely talk about their sexual conquests to each other. I overheard them enough. And if it was a pure girl who had been deflowered, it was almost an announcement to the whole school that she was for sale. Same with any guy who had lost his virginity, which I am almost certain I stole away from Peeta last night.

Besides, wouldn't Peeta have every right to tell his friends of such a milestone, right of passage? You can bet Axel or Coal would have. Or either one of Peeta's brothers.

And yet, as I stare at this boy standing in my room, I have a feeling Peeta is not that kind of person. And given the circumstances in which we coupled…. Could it be that he has stayed silent to protect me, and _not_ to punish me, as I had originally presumed?

"Well…. thank you," I get out. A pause, and then: "But you still haven't told me what the air mattress is for."

"I thought I could move in with you and help you with your pregnancy."

Why is he so eager to help me? I have no idea why, but instead I merely wave him off. "Peeta, we already discussed this…."

"But…."

"I don't need you to save me!" I snap at him brusquely.

"I'm aware. You said that last night," Peeta reminds me flatly. That stops me cold, for I still do not want to recall the hell I dragged him into. The pause I create gives Peeta an opening to entreat me further.

"You may think your mom and sister will be able to help you, but I saw them downstairs. They're backed up with clients, four to five patients deep. Do you think they're going to have time for all the trials you will go through in your pregnancy, especially during the day?"

He makes a valid point. As far as Healers are concerned, Mother is the only game in the town. Plus, I feel she is probably the best in all of Panem. A little biased, perhaps, but it's true. When a miner is caught in a tunnel collapse or a Peacekeeper beating has occurred, it's to my family the sick and injured are sent. Being responsible for the medical needs of an entire district is relentlessly demanding, to say the least.

I nod, to concede Peeta's point. "What about your family?"

Peeta smiles, as if he's expecting the question. "Not a problem. My dad allowed it, provided I am back at the bakery every day by just after sunrise to start the morning shift."

I am a stubborn person, but even I can tell when I am beaten. I let out a long breath before finally nodding. Yes. He can live here and help me. Who knows? Maybe this is my chance to make it up to him, to do penance for my sin.

Satisfied, Peeta throws down the air mattress next to my bed and proceeds to blow it up. Acting as though this is already some kind of normalcy for me, I silently flop back onto my bed without another word. As I lie there into the night, eventually hearing Peeta's snores, I suddenly possess the desire to have him sleeping not on the floor, but with me - no, _lying_ with me - no….. lying _next to_ me. I banish these thoughts to my subconscious along with the painful memory of the night before. Content that I will no longer be concerned with such folly, I drift off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Now We're Even

**Chapter 7: Now We're Even**

By the end of a few days, I have come to accept Peeta Mellark as a consistent presence in my household, if not exactly in my life yet. I am usually waking just in time to hear the door downstairs slam as he leaves for the bakery every morning, and when I emerge from my room, there is always a breakfast of fresh bread and eggs on the table for myself, Mother and Prim.

On one such day, I arrive to my breakfast to find a note at my place in Peeta's handwriting, asking me to meet him at the Center Market near the Justice Building.

I frown. Unlike the Hob, the Center Market is for only the Merchants in town. What will people say, to see a Seam girl in their midst there? But I figure that as long as I am with Peeta, I'll be all right.

Just before noon, I leave for the Center Market. No one notices me slip into the throng, and soon enough, I meet up with Peeta. He greets me with a hug, a gesture of affection I have recently come to allow.

"Come on. I think I found the perfect fabrics for the baby's room."

He leads me to a rack, and the colors he has in mind are indeed very beautiful. Some of them I could even see adorning Prim's room. We have to get two color sets, as we don't yet know the gender of the baby. Peeta pays for it all before I can protest, and I once again feel that gnawing guilt at his unconditional generosity.

As we are leaving, I spy Cray out of the corner of my eye. The Head Peacekeeper is the only member of the whole district who frequents both Merchant and Seam establishments.

And he seems to be staring right at me.

My heart races. I turn back to my friend. "Peeta…. look back casually and see if you can spy Cray." Peeta does, cool as can be, and quickly faces me again.

"I see him. Worse, he's tailing us. Follow me."

Taking me by the hand, he leads me deep into a cluster of people. I can still feel Cray's presence a few strides behind us, though. Peeta must, too - nothing seems to phase him.

"Throw an arm around my shoulder and laugh as if I've said something funny. On my count. Three, two, one."

I follow his command and burst out into hysterical laughter. Peeta slings an arm over my shoulder in kind and steers me past the last few stalls, out of the Center Market. Then, he ducks us down a side street.

"Shortcut," he says.

Weaving through a design of unfamiliar passageways, Peeta eventually leads us back to the alleyway beside the bakery, where I assaulted him. Discomfort at the memory swamps me, but I manage to tamp it down.

"Have we lost him?" I ask.

"Not yet we haven't. Seeing me with you, this is the first place he'll look, which is just what I want." Peeta positions me so that my back is facing the wall. To my right, there is a stack of boxes. He now eyes me.

"Do you know how to react while having sex?"

I blink. "Yes…."

"Let me eat you out."

"Excuse me?" I gasp, affronted.

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable."

"As well they should…." but Peeta has already dropped to his knees, in an ironic twist of fate.

"Start acting," he orders.

Of course, I should have known he wouldn't _actually_ eat me out. Peeta is too much of a gentleman for that, which only makes me feel worse about my own actions. Only touching my hips, Peeta makes suckling motions with his face, good enough away from the apex of my thighs. I lean against the wall, one hand to my heart, the other limp at my side. I throw back my head and pant, in between those letting out the sexiest moans I can muster.

Moments later, Cray appears at the end of the alleyway. I glance at him out of my peripheral vision. He stops dead and stares, then his face hardens in what must be jealousy. There is a very potent bulge in his pants now, as well.

And for the first time, I understand what he's seeing: the boxes to my right completely conceal Peeta. Thus, Cray thinks this is all real, and can still reasonably deduce that it is Peeta doing this to me. At last, the Peacekeeper moves on.

"He's gone," I breathe.

Peeta immediately stands up. "Good."

"What was the purpose of that?"

"Simple: Cray now thinks you are unavailable, and with my status as a Merchant, he can't hurt me. He can think for himself."

"Let him think what he wants!"

"My point exactly."

"So, now we're even."

"No." I have forgotten that Peeta's hands are still on my hips, so it is effortless for him to pull me close and kiss me right on the lips.

I blink once, then again, stunned beyond words. "What was that?"

"A kiss."

"I know it was a kiss, Peeta….Mmmmm….." I am cut off as Peeta kisses me again, forcing me to silence. This one is slightly longer.

I have barely come up for air when Peeta assertively pushes me up against the bakery wall. I feel a flash of terror as I wonder his motives before he kisses me one last time - the most passionate, and still tender, yet. At last, he lets me go.

" _Now_ we're even," he pants.

And remembering how I kissed him thrice while I sucked him off, I can't help but smile softly at the irony.


	8. Chapter 8: Will You Stay With Me?

**Chapter 8: Will You Stay With Me?**

My nightmares come swift and hard that night. I see Gale fighting for his life in the arena, before Cato finally subdues him, laughing evilly.

"Game over, 12! You'll never be a father now!"

I watch my lost love die all over again, my screams now joined by the plaintive wailing of an infant.

I wake in a cold sweat, my screams the only thing to pass seamlessly between the lands of dream and waking. My terror has evidently woken up Peeta, because I can hear his voice at my side, even if I can't make him out in the darkness.

"Just a nightmare, I'm sorry," I breathe heavily, embarrassed.

"It's OK," he soothes gently. "I get them too. Good night." I hear him returning to his air mattress and suddenly reach out blindly.

"Peeta….. will you stay with me?"

"Yeah," he replies without hesitation, and I get my secret wish as I feel the mattress sink a little deeper with added weight. I crawl right up against him, snuggling in his warmth.

"Always," he whispers. It's the last thing I hear before I drift back to sleep.

Only in the morning after I wake up do I realize that was my first dreamless slumber in years. I wonder all over again: who is this young man with such inexplicable power that even the nightmares obey him and flee?


	9. Chapter 9: Month Two Morning Bugs

**Chapter 9: Month Two Morning Bugs**

It is not a nightmare that wakes me in the middle of the night this time. Oh no, ever since I have taken to making Peeta sleep in my bed, those hells have been happily missing.

The one hell that still insists on making itself known is my nausea.

I am now in my second month of pregnancy, and for roughly half that time, Peeta has been living with me.

I barely make it to the toilet before my meager dinner makes its reappearance, in the form of brown and yellow sludge that I shudder to look at. The assault does not stop, either, until I am hurling into the bowl in an almost continuous stream. I can taste the bitterness of the bile in my mouth, feel it…. Oh god, I can feel it in my hair. It's in my hair! Damnit!

I sense the light turning on in the greater bathroom just beyond, which houses my sink and shower. I hear the water at the faucet, then footsteps approach and the door to the toilet open. Peeta squats, Indian-style, on the floor beside me without a word, gathering the vomit-sprayed strands of my hair in his hands and lowering them into the bucket of water at his side. He gently but methodically begins to run his fingers through the strands, depositing the vomit there, to surely be thrown out later.

I appreciate his tenderness - more than I care to admit - but….

"You don't have to do this, you know," I get out, when the hurling lets up enough for me to speak. "It's not _your_ baby."

"Sometimes it feels like it is…." he murmurs softly, as if he is far away from me.

"Huh?" I throw out there somewhat stupidly. I'm confused. What could he mean by that? A sudden thought leaps without permission into my brain: does Peeta wish that the baby I now carry was _his_ instead of Gale's? I can't allow myself to think that, for its logical conclusions are so….

Terrifying.


	10. Chapter 10: You'd Think We're Married

**Chapter 10: You'd Think We're Married**

The weeks continue to pass unabated. And by and by, Peeta and I begin to fall into a routine. Time after time he is in my bed, time after time he stays with me in the bathroom after a bout of nausea, I begin to grow fonder of the baker's youngest son and his unselfish attentions towards me.

My sleep clock has adjusted enough so that now, when Peeta wakes with the dawn, I do too - free of nightmares, as has become the new norm. I am still awake, waiting for him after he emerges from my - _our_ \- bathroom, to kiss him on the cheek goodbye. Peeta's smile at this now daily ritual alights me with joy. I cannot help it.

God, you would think we are married! The thought sends my stomach into knots, thoughts flying into uncharted territory that I had heretofore never imagined to ponder. I know these twists of my insides are not from the nausea this time. They can't be - not when they emerge every time I instantly appear…. happy when I see Peeta walk in the door after a long day at work, or around a corner unexpectedly. Every day he arrives home, he brings me cheese buns - my favorite pastry - and sometimes even a tea mix to help with my nausea. The appreciation of these gifts also prompts the strange stomach knots. As does the memory of his kissing me in the alleyway of the bakery…..


	11. Chapter 11: Tension Bursts

**Chapter 11: Tension Bursts**

The alarm clock barely has time to ring before it is shut off. It's enough to pull me out of sleep, though. I whine and snuggle closer to Peeta, trying in vain to prevent him from leaving. But I feel the bedsprings lower and then return into place with a snap, along with a sudden chill to my body, as he rises to go get ready for the day.

I am in the middle of my fourth month of pregnancy (by now, I am showing quite healthily and the whole of District 12 knows), and in the two and a half months Peeta has lived with me, I have become shameless in how close I want him, especially in my bed. No longer do I have qualms about using him as my personal teddy bear. He drives the nightmares away, so why disturb too much of a good thing?

I hear the water turn on as Peeta steps into the shower. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. I cannot fall back - I've done that sometimes only to wake up and find him gone. It is never good for me to miss what has now become our morning ritual.

Five minutes elapse and Peeta is out of the shower. I can hear the rustling of fabric as he dresses, the brief running of water from the tap as he brushes his teeth. When it comes to getting to work, he doesn't mess around. It's a good walk from my house to the bakery, and he has to be there at least half an hour prior to opening time. But he sets his alarm so he can stay with me as long as possible, while still having just enough time to get to work. The door creaks as he slips back into my - _our_ \- room.

"I'm out, sweetheart," he hisses to me, determined not to wake Mother or Prim. When he initially tried out this nickname on me, I bristled. The connotation seemed to imply something still so….. I can't describe it. But, I indulged Peeta because he has been so gentle and kind to me.

"Have a good day at work," I smile, leaning forward to peck his cheek goodbye, as I do every morning.

He turns his head at the last second. It is his lips, not his skin, that I touch with my own. I jolt, as if I have been given an electric shock, and it feels like I have. Sparks seem to fly from our mouths as we physically join in this way. It is true magic.

Of course, Peeta and I have shared half a dozen kisses like this, but they were all forced by one upon the other. This, by contrast, is our first mutually consented kiss. But even more exhilarating: this is the first kiss that makes me want another.

I am aroused. I can feel it in the way my breasts, already ballooned by my pregnancy, rise like the yeast Peeta handles all day, every day. I suddenly know that if Peeta saw my perky nipples through my nightshirt, I would die of shame. I feel my face grow hot, and I want to fan myself. So, to cover these thoughts and feelings and…. bodily responses, I do not pull away. "Hmmmmm…" I groan without guilt and grasp at his neck with my hands, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. My eyes flutter closed.

Minutes later, Peeta pulls out of the kiss. I know why, and do not feel offended; he's already running late.

"See you tonight," I gasp, breathless from the display of affection we have shared. "I…." But he does not hear me, nodding to me with a smile as he sprints out the door. I stop short and frown. What _was_ it that I was about to say, but that died on my lips, the lips that Peeta just so passionately kissed and that I kissed him with in turn?

My fingers fly to my mouth and I feel the fading warmth of Peeta there, but I am also in shock, for I know what I had been about to say.

 _I love you._

All through the rest of that day, I ponder over what this all now means. Did I enjoy this new kind of kiss with Peeta? That is obvious. Of course I did! Then again, I hadn't exactly minded any of the others we shared behind the bakery, even if they were forcibly endowed. Another question pesters me, this one harder to answer: How did kissing Peeta compare to kissing Gale?

It's difficult to say. When Gale kissed me, no man had ever kissed me before in my life. I was awkward, unwieldy, in returning my affections. But with Peeta…. the kisses I gave him the night I pleasured him were more assertive, confident. And the one this morning….. I suppose my adeptness came from the experience I had already built with Peeta. So, really, comparing the sensation of kissing these two men is impossible. And I don't even want to try and compare either of them to the one god-awful kiss I shared with Cray! I'd be way over-thinking it then.

Only one query now remains: where do I go from here with the Boy with the Bread?


	12. Chapter 12: Month Five Mood Swings

**Chapter 12: Month Five Mood Swings**

A little over halfway there. Goddam it to hell, I'm only a little over halfway there!

This, the middle of my second trimester, has been the hardest stretch of my pregnancy to date. My belly is very pronounced, and I am already seeing changes in the way I have to move. I am slower, more clumsy than I usually am. I am even starting to waddle! Waddle! The indignity of it all!

It is an otherwise peaceful Saturday afternoon, and Peeta and I are starting to clean up our room while still getting ready for the day (we sleep late on the weekends). At my vanity, I test a shirt in the mirror, before changing it out for a new one. There! This one is much better. Until I realize….. DAMN IT!

I turn around, now decent, to see Peeta sweeping on the other side of the room. He doesn't even notice the calamity I'm in! I clear my throat and he finally looks back to me.

"Peeta….." I ask, the calm barely holding the chaos at bay. "Whose shirt is this?"

He grimaces, puzzled at what he obviously must think is such a silly question. "Ummm….. yours?" Then he looks again. "Wait….. you're wearing _my_ shirt!"

"EXACTLY!" I scream at him, finally exploding.

And then Peeta commits what I would classify in this moment as a cardinal sin. He bursts out laughing. A pleased grin plasters his face. "You're wearing my shirt!" and he seems rather proud.

"I DON'T THINK IT'S FUNNY, PEETA! AND IT ISN'T FUNNY, BECAUSE NOTHING I OWN FITS!" Forgetting that Peeta has never seen me naked, complete or partial, I tear off his shirt and fling it into the closet. Were it working properly, the rational part of my brain would definitely tell me I am getting way too worked up over this, but I don't care. How _dare_ he think this is a moment to laugh or puff up his manly chest as if this is some…..accomplishment! Doesn't he see that….. oh God…..

The roller coaster ride I'm now on hurtles me into a new realm, and I suddenly want to bawl like a child. I refuse to do this in front of Peeta, though - unlike _him_ , I still have my pride! So instead, I just pout.

"I'm ugly," and my voice comes out in a whine.

" _What_?" Peeta splutters, seeming genuinely incredulous.

I march back to my vanity mirror and throw my arms out as best I can. "Look at me!" I spit. "I'm _fat_ and I'm _ugly_! There! I said it so you don't have to! I look like one of the stupid pigs in your backyard!"

I hear Peeta chuckling behind me, and I am just about to light into him again when his voice stops me:

"Katniss. You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen."

I stare at him, at a loss for words. Did he really just call me _beautiful_? I self-consciously tug at my braid and look away.

Peeta chuckles again, a low, rumbling, glorious sound. "There. I said it so you don't have to." I would ordinarily laugh at his turning my own words back on me, but I can only sniffle. I feel him pull me into his arms, and it does not take any convincing for me to hug him back. "Don't you see, Katniss? You're glowing! I actually find it quite adorable. But what's even more adorable is that you don't even _realize_ you're glowing!"

I turn my head against his chest so I can see our bodies intertwined in the mirror. I wish I could believe what he is telling me. But I can't. And I don't exactly want to think about it right now. My crankiness returning, I push against his chest, towards the door.

"Just…. go! Go to work! I'll see you after your late shift!" Peeta has taken on extra evening and night hours at the bakery on Saturdays. More income in case we need to buy other things for the baby, he told me.

* * *

I wait up for him, of course, just as my mother used to do for my father when he came home from the mines. Or what any wife might do for her husband; I suppose this is how it would work. Besides, I can't go to bed without him anymore. It is after midnight when he finally walks in the door, making sure to not wake anyone up. Always the considerate one.

Seeing him standing there, after missing him for nearly half the day, I remember our fight in our bedroom and am moved to tears. I begin to blubber.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry I yelled at you today! I was such a…."

He takes me in his arms without hesitation. He really is so lovely. "Sssh…. it's all right. This is normal. Sssh…."

I am just beginning to let his words calm me when I notice his face. Even in the dim light, I can make out…. a black eye. It sets me off again.

"Who….. who hurt you?"

Peeta chuckles dryly. "You didn't need to ask 'what happened' first? I'm impressed…." He leans back to get a good look at me and shrugs. "My mother."

I start crying all over again. I know by now that Peeta's mother is a cruel, awful woman. The fact that he had to put up with _that_ and my bitching earlier….

Peeta seems to read my thoughts. "Katniss, I forgive you. And don't worry. If you think _your_ mood swings are bad, my mother must be in a never-ending pregnancy. Trust me: for her, this is pretty standard fare."

 _That doesn't make it right_ , I want to tell him, but I can't get the words out amongst my tears.

"I love you, Katniss."

"But _why_?" I whisper, tears streaming down my face. It is a fair inquiry. I have never thought of myself as pretty, or even a girl worthy of notice. And I am not the easiest woman in the world to love; my own family could attest to that, Mother probably more than Prim. "Why do you love _me_?"

Peeta blinks, as if the answer is obvious, and I guess - to him - it is. "Because I came alive when I met you."

I sniffle against his shirtfront. "Where…. where did you learn to talk all sweet like that?"

Peeta's chest quakes as the laugh comes out of him. "That's easy. I do sales pitching for the customers who come into the bakery. Between that and decorating the cookies and cakes, kneading the dough, it keeps me pretty busy."

For the first time all day, I smile. Of course. I should have known. Peeta can use words like no one else I have ever met. It's one of the many things I….. _love_ about him.


	13. Chapter 13: New Oven

**Chapter 13: New Oven**

As the days drag on, I feel a gnawing feeling hanging around my being that I can never shake. Peeta has done so much for me these past several months. I have never liked owing someone, and I owe him much more than I could ever repay.

But that doesn't mean I can't _try_ to repay him.

The idea comes rather easily, despite my growing exhaustion at carrying so much extra weight. If I could afford one at a decent enough price…. it could do so much for him! It would be perfect!

Thankfully, I have saved the money bag Peeta gave me the night we copulated, so one day, when Mother and Prim are out to see a patient and Peeta is at work, I go into town. Besides, the blacksmith is not far within the Seam. The coins are enough to buy just what I need. It's not new, but the blacksmith assures me it runs just as well. I don't mind. My family has never been concerned with concepts like new or old. The blacksmith is able to load it into a cart and help me all the way back to my house and set it up.

Now all there's left to do is wait for Peeta.

* * *

That evening, Peeta returns home from work. This time, I am waiting for him on the front porch and adore seeing him come up the path.

"Hey!" he laughs, tickled that I am out here. I stand slowly from the rocking chair and he moves to help me, but I wave him off.

"Fine, I'm fine. Peeta…. there's something I want to show you." I reach for the door, then turn back. "But first you have to close your eyes. It's a surprise."

Peeta raises an eyebrow, amused, but does as I ask. I open the door, and taking his hands, I excitedly lead him inside.

"Can I open them?" he asks.

"No, not yet. Wait here." I move to the window and let the setting sun's light in. Peeta squints, eyes still shut.

"Now can I open them?"

"All right," I smile. "Now!"

Peeta opens them and his face goes slack. An oven sits in one corner of the kitchen. He approaches it and runs a hand across the top. Despite it being used, second-hand, he is acting as if it is brand new. "Where did you get this?" he breathes.

I blush and look at my feet. "The money you gave me. That night. I….. I thought this way, you could work from home sometimes. Not have to worry about your mother." The one thing I can't admit is that I want him home with me more often. But, given how well Peeta can read me, maybe I don't have to say that.

"I could kiss you right now." He must be overwhelmed at my gift to say such a thing. Then, I look up, surprised just in time before he takes my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, right on the lips.

Peeta's hands cradle my head and I let out a gasp into his mouth. After a moment, I smile against his lips and gently kiss him back. _He really_ _did_ _like it…..wow, he tastes so good…_

If he keeps kissing me just like this, I should give him presents more often!


	14. Chapter 14: Preparing the Nursery

**Chapter 14: Preparing the Nursery**

I watch from the rocking chair in the corner of the spare room, smiling in content as I rub my pregnant belly. I'm at six and a half months now, and Peeta has decided now would be the time to get the baby's room ready. Shame we didn't start on it sooner than this; I could have helped him!

Then again, I admit I like watching Peeta work. I admire his steady hand as he runs the brush down the far side of the wall, right up against the white trimming, but careful not to paint over it. That's an artist's hand, no doubt about it! Maybe the baby will have his artistic talent.

I mentally shake myself. No, that's impossible. The baby can't inherit that from Peeta because it's not Peeta's baby. Gale's…. it's Gale's…..

I move away from my musings. "Sales, frosting - do you do _everything_ at the bakery?"

Peeta looks back to me and laughs. The smile that lights up his face sends my heart a-flutter. "No, not quite. There is _much_ more to do than you might think. And my brothers and I try really hard to share the load so that it's _somewhat_ equal."

I smile. "I bet they do that so you don't beat them at everything!" I flirt. Peeta laughs again and I laugh with him.

 _This is how it should be_ , I find myself thinking. _Always_.


	15. Chapter 15: Date Night

**Chapter 15: Date Night**

It has been several months since I wore this dress - the blue one in which I visited Peeta and ending up sucking his dick the way a baby would its mother's breast. But, tonight I have something special planned for Peeta, and am grateful to Mother that she had the tailor make some adjustments. "Don't worry, we can shrink it back to normal once the baby's born," she told me.

Tonight, I'm taking Peeta to a party in the Hob to show him my world - the Seam one I grew up in. It'll be a night of music and dancing and lots of fun. Never mind that I am due to give birth in 10 weeks or so. This winter party may be one of the last chances I have to go out before I am ordered to bed rest.

Peeta is pleased to have some relaxation, especially after a long Friday at work, and we head for the Hob giddy and happy.

Unfortunately, that's shattered for me when we get there. Right away, I can tell that the presence of a Merchant, or "Townie" as some Seam folk like to slang, makes the district's poorer folk uncomfortable. Ripper, the alcohol dealer, takes Peeta's order for a small shot glass with "What'll it be, stranger?" Others, when trying to get by in the crowded market, say, "Excuse me, Townie."

I can tell Peeta notices the way people look at him, but he takes it all in stride, if nothing else to be polite. I am embarrassed for him, and am astonished in his ability to act as though this clear….. discrimination isn't bothering him.

Then, something happens that turns the whole thing around. Cray enters the party, already drunk. He is shouting something unintelligible, being rude and belligerent, and it's all people can do just to get out of his way. I instinctively move closer to Peeta, and he puts his arm around me protectively. I know Cray sees me at one point, but he does not come near. Perhaps in his stupor, it does not register for him that it _is_ me. Suddenly, the Goat Man bumps into Cray while trying to avoid him.

"You sonofabitch! Don't you dare block my path! I'm the fucking Head Peacekeeper, dammit!" Cray seizes the poor Goat Man by his shirt collar and others, expecting a fight, are uncertain whether to make room or close ranks to protect one of their own. It is actually Peeta who makes the first move, and he jumps right into the fray.

"Mr. Cray, sir. You're drunk. Why don't you….. head on home? You can stop by my place if you want, ask Dad for some Aspirins or something. I'm sure he'll give you some."

Cray eyes Peeta for a long, tense moment, before sighing wearily and nodding. He releases the Goat Man and claps Peeta on the shoulder. "I might just do that. Thanks a lot, neighbor." Then, he stumbles out of the Hob, muttering and swearing under his breath.

Greasy Sae breaks the silence. "Well, you sure know how to defuse a powder keg there, Merchant! Say, you're one of them baker boys, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Peeta Mellark," my living companion answers with a smile. Sae laughs.

"Mellark, huh? That's a good name. Quick thinking and smart with your mouth too, Peeta Mellark! Here. Have a chicken leg!"

With this gesture, Sae signals to the others that with Peeta, there is no longer anything to fear. As people now come up to the young man warmly, I can't help but smile. Seam folk may be poor, and thus defensive, but if you stand up for them, they'll back you to the hilt in return. The baker's son has now earned that most sacred trust.

I join the group congregating at Sae's stand, but soon enough the men have dragged Peeta onto the dance floor and are teaching him a Seam jig, usually performed on holidays like this one. I am left alone with the old woman, my eyes only for the blond fellow I have come to know so well, my heart full of love.

And something else that I can see in my mind's eye, but can't dare express….

"Want him to fuck you?" I turn and gawp at Greasy Sae, astonished that she could possibly know what I was thinking. She just smiles a toothy grin and shakes her head.

"Girl child, I was young once, too. We women, our hormones - especially when pregnant - are powerful. Besides, he has a good soul. And he's _handsome_ , too!" She winks.

Just then, the tune changes to a classic District 12 folk song. Greasy Sae nods to me. "Go get him, dearie, or I just might carry him off!" I scamper onto the dance floor as quick as I can despite my pregnant belly and grab Peeta in the crowd.

"What dance is this?" Peeta calls over the music.

"It's one we Seam folk usually play at weddings, but it's good for any celebration. Come on, I'll teach it to you!" I smile. I show him the steps, and he copies me. Pretty soon, Peeta is dancing it so well, you might think he was from the Seam were it not for his skin tone and hair color. He's pretty light on his feet, actually.

As dance partners, we get lost in the music, and I find that I am grinning so much, my face might break. The tune gets faster and faster, but neither of us stops. At last, Peeta twirls me over and over before finally dipping me with a flourish. I feel safe in his strong arms.

When I come up, I discover that we are inches away from each other; so close that I can feel Peeta's breath tickle my skin. I can see every detail of the freckles on his cheeks. I can feel his hands not leaving my waist, my arms draped across his neck. My breathing becomes deep, and I feel my eyes growing heavy. This physical closeness, this…. intimacy, this…. tension with Peeta is new to me.

And most exciting of all, I can sense him drifting in, pulling me closer. I barely have time to take a breath before his lips seal around mine, in a heavy, sensual kiss that soon has my world spiraling out of control. I can only grip Peeta closer, weaving my fingers through his blond curls and playing with them. Feeling him against me, feeling his hands buried in my hair, dancing across my skin, his tongue exploring my mouth, is the only constant I now have in my senses, as my eyes are firmly closed and I don't care if I ever open them again. Far, far away, I hear fireworks explode in the nighttime sky above the Hob, but it seems to exist in another, parallel world. Peeta is my world now. He is _mine_. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.

My heart has been lost to me. I have fallen hopelessly in love with Peeta Mellark.


	16. Chapter 16: Intimate Shower

**Chapter 16: Intimate Shower**

I grit my teeth with the effort as I try to circumnavigate my large belly with the washcloth, water from the shower raining down on me. I don't remember bathing being quite this…. strenuous.

And it's annoying me to no end. Month 7 is almost up, and I feel like I can't do anything for myself! It's infuriating!

I sigh. "PEETA!" I call.

I have summoned him in this way more and more lately. We worked it out so that Peeta could be ready for anything, even an early birth. Reliably, concerned only for me, he comes bursting into the bathroom.

"Where's the fire?" he asks, partially joking to try and lighten my mood, which I appreciate.

"My muscles, unfortunately," I banter back. "This damn….. I can't even reach anywhere with my washcloth!"

There's a pause as Peeta considers this. "What do you need?"

I feel my erratic moods flare up but I tamp them back down. "I need you to bathe me."

"All right." Peeta pulls back the curtain. Holding my gaze, he takes the washcloth from me and begins to gently, but methodically, rub it over my entire body.

I suddenly want to swoon. Peeta's hands on me feel so good, so impossibly _good_ , that I cannot bear the thought of him stopping this. I should have him bathe me all the time, even after the baby is born.

Finally, Peeta has scrubbed me down everywhere from the waist up except my sexual areas….. all while not breaking eye contact with me. I know why, and I want to almost cry over his reverence towards my body.

"Can you get below my waist?" and I am startled to find my voice coming out in a whisper.

Peeta gently wraps his arms around my waist and scrubs my back, and then my bum. Feeling his touch down on my ass, I feel incredibly aroused, but bite my lip to keep a moan from coming out.

I realize I now want Peeta to touch me in all of my holy areas: my likely perky breasts, the blessed spot between my legs that only _I_ have touched, that only Gale has touched….

There is only one thing left to scrub. I gulp. "Peeta… I usually clean…. down there. Would you….?" My eyes shift towards the apex of my legs and I blush furiously.

Peeta inhales deeply and nods. Gazing into my eyes, he dips the washcloth down towards my vagina. Probing so gently that it barely touches the tender skin, he cleans my most scared area….. all without looking.

God, it feels so amazing! I clench my legs, hoping with all my heart that liquid does not shamelessly spill from there. I lean forward into his personal space slightly and close my eyes, trying not to make any noises, sexy or otherwise.

I bite back a smile. He is being such a gentleman…. almost too much. What did I do to deserve such respectful treatment? So, when he's finished, I smile sweetly at him.

"You can look, Peeta. It's all right." And I mean it. I trust him. The gentleness in my voice surely must tell him this.

Peeta slowly shifts his eyes below my face and chin. I watch his eyes for a reaction as he beholds my breasts, and then as he sees my womanhood.

I nearly gasp as I notice a very tent-like bulge emerge like a thing of beauty in his pants.

 _He wants me. He wants to have sex with me! Me!_ And I am almost delirious with happiness. I imagine Peeta and I making love in my bed, and I know if I fixate on it too much, I will become dripping wet.

I feel horny even after Peeta leaves me so that I can dry myself off.


	17. Chapter 17: Month Eight Making Love

**Chapter 17: Month Eight Making Love**

I can hear the sound of the shovel as Peeta labors out in the garden. I cannot help but steal a glance out my bathroom window to watch him work. I see his shoulder muscles rippling with the effort as he plunges the instrument into the earth, and I imagine what it might look like, feel like, if he plunged his dick into my…..

I feel the hot blood drop into my core and I force myself to look away. Sweet Panem! These hormones will drive me mad! You're a dirty girl, Katniss Sierra Everdeen! You're a dirty, dirty girl!

I have been noticing Peeta physically more and more lately. The way he comes up the path after his day at the bakery. The way he assembled the baby's crib for me the other day. And now watching him garden…. Watching him bake, feeling the heat of the oven radiating off him, how it makes sweat appear on his brow...

I flick water at the mirror as I try to splash my face and calm down. Dammit!

I stalk into my bedroom. Lying on my bed, I hike up my skirt to my waist. I slip my fingers underneath the waistband of my panties and touch my wetness. I begin to rub my clit fast and hard. I imagine it is _Peeta_ doing this to me, pushing himself in and out, in and out…..

I rub faster, gasping out air, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead and my body. My free hand is gripping the sheets in my fist and I feel my lower half bucking off the bed more and more wildly.

"Oh… oh my… oh my… Peeta… Peeta…. Mmmm…."

"OH! I'm so sorry!"

My eyes snap open and I dare to turn towards the voice. Shit! I must not have heard him come in. Peeta is standing in the doorway looking thoroughly mortified, embarrassed that he walked in on me. He immediately does an about-face and prepares to leave the room.

"Wait!" I cry, ashamed that my voice sounds so desperate.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you wanted to be alone," he rambles without even turning around.

"But I don't want to be alone," I pant. The words hang in the air like smoke. Peeta slowly turns to face me, shocked. I give him my tenderest smile.

"Come to me," I whisper sweetly. Peeta obeys.

As soon as he is within my grasp, I lunge for him, pouncing for my prey. I climb him like a tree, peppering him with kisses everywhere my lips can reach. I practically throw the young man onto the bed, and make him mount me. He is kissing me back, now, but won't put his hands on me.

"Peeta….." I wheesh. "I need you….. to touch me. Please, please, just touch me!" And I take his hands in my own and guide them to my breasts.

Confident that there is nothing to fear, that this is what I want, Peeta begins to stroke my body everywhere. He kneads my breasts like dough, dances his fingers along my thighs as he uses them to nudge my legs apart. Every single touch he gives, lights my body up to the heat of a thousand suns. I can't take it anymore!

"You need to be inside me by the time I count to three!" I growl. I guide him towards my center without even bothering to count. Peeta pushes in after initial reluctance; the look I give him makes it clear that I _have_ to have this.

Slowly, once unified, Peeta begins to slide in and out, in and out. Happiness bursts onto my face so hard, I'm afraid it will break me. I drape my arms across his back, using his incredibly manly body as a tether to keep me from spinning off into space. When pleasure replaces initial pain (I haven't had sex in so damn _long_ \- eight fucking months!), I actually begin to laugh.

"What is it?" Peeta hisses out.

"I'm….. I'm actually having a really good time!" I giggle; I almost sound drunk. And maybe I am. Drunk on him!

"Me too." It's taking any extra effort he has just to get air to speak.

I give him a plaintive look. "You won't hurt the baby. Don't hold back."

"Ohhhhhhh…" Peeta moans like a ghost and begins to thrust into me with wild abandon. He scoops my legs over his shoulders. He is pounding into me; I bouncing right along with him. The bed creaks and sways. My eyes are as wide as saucers. I love how Peeta fucks!

"Oh! OH!" I can only make airy, high-pitched noises as I ride through the feelings coursing through me. At long last, I cannot keep it in any longer, and I explode, riding my orgasm out even as my vision becomes spotty. Quivering, I can feel Peeta spill himself inside of me. He is breathing hard, grunting, exhausted. With his last ounce of strength, he rolls off of me.

"I've….. I've wanted to do that for so long," he gasps.

I can't help it. I crack up. "Why didn't you try?" I chortle. "You know I wouldn't have refused you." And it's true. If he had seduced me, I would not have minded one bit.

"I had _no idea_ you wanted me to!" Peeta protests, stunned by my admission. "And besides, I thought with the….." He blushes, and I know what he is referring to. "….. with _that_ , it wasn't love. It was just….. sex for sex's sake."

I feel ashamed all over again as I remember our forced oral sex at the bakery. Unfortunately, he's not wrong. At that time, what I did to him was not out of love, but out of my own pride and a desire to not be seen as charity or worthy of pity. How much I have changed, in the seven months between my two sexual encounters with this man!

I snuggle closer to him. "Well, from now on, know that when I want to make love, it comes from a place of want, a place of love." I blush. "I want you, Peeta."

He kisses my nose, then my lips chastely, a smile playing on his mouth. "I want you, too, Katniss."


	18. Chapter 18: The Ides of March

**Chapter 18: The Ides of March**

It is a beautiful March day. The last vestiges of winter have melted away to reveal a glorious spring.

I cannot use the same adjective for my body, however. I look like I'm ready to pop. And believe me, I am. I want this baby out!

It's a Saturday morning. Peeta is downstairs, fixing lunch while I am on bed rest in our room. He'll be leaving for his late shift at the bakery in a couple of hours. Prim and Mother are out for the day, off to see a patient - there was a significant mine collapse a couple of weeks ago; several miners are still badly injured.

Suddenly, I feel a wave of liquid crash around my waist and I look to see fluid pooling around me, soaking the bed. Oh my God!

"PEETA!" He comes running up the stairs, out of breath. He stares when he sees the water. I nod stiffly.

"It's time," I croak out. He leaps into action.

"OK, OK, here we go. Uh…. hospital?"

"No time. How are you going to get me halfway across the district?"

"Your mom? Should I go fetch her?"

"She's on the other side of Twelve."

"Then what?"

"Just get me comfortable," I order. Peeta lifts me gently and scoots me back to the headboard, propping me up with pillows. I eye him pointedly.

"You're going to have to deliver it. Think you can do it?"

Peeta gulps. "I'll try."

I explode, without even knowing why his turn of phrase bothers me. It just does. "TRY?! You WILL! This is my _baby_ , Peeta Mellark! And I swear to you, I will NEVER be this fat ever a….. ARGGHHH!"

The contractions have started. And they don't let up. Not for hours. No doctor, Peeta has to literally guesstimate how close I am to giving birth, amateurishly counting how many contractions I'm having per minute, how much I'm dilated. At last, he can see the baby crowning. The sun is just beginning to set; he won't be going into work tonight.

"All right, Katniss, get ready to push! On my mark! And…. GO!"

I scream bloody murder at the effort. I feel like I'm trying to push out a bowling ball. I can barely hear Peeta giving encouragement through the haze. With the last strength I have, I give another heave. My last scream is matched by a chorus of wails.

Peeta is practically cackling with joy. "You did it, Katniss! It's a girl! She's out! And she's gorgeous! Let me cut the cord….."

Moments later, I feel a bundle being pressed into my arms. The most beautiful baby on the planet is looking up at me, and I begin to hysterically sob.

"Look at you….. Riley," I choke on my own tears. "Riley Rose."

Peeta and I never really discussed baby names. The only mention of it that he had given was that he felt that it was my decision, and would trust what I came up with. Seeing how Peeta now reacts to the name that I have given makes it clear that I have his approval.

Just then, the baby wails and begins to reach out its tiny little hands. I stare. She's reaching for _Peeta_.

"Do you want to hold her?" I ask. Peeta looks unsure. "It's all right, go ahead."

I press the bundle into his arms. Peeta is grinning like a little kid, making silly faces at the little creature.

"Hey. Hi there! I'm….." He stops short and an expression crosses his face that almost looks…. guilty. I know what he was about to say, but he feels as though he can't. I just beam.

"Peeta. You can't stop her from seeing you that way any more than you can stop the sun from setting. You're her father in all but blood. Blood and DNA don't make a family. Only love can do that."

Peeta smiles, trying not to cry as he rocks his child in his arms - claiming Riley as, at least partially, his.


	19. Chapter 19: Another Intimate Shower

**Chapter 19: Another Intimate Shower**

I have just put Riley down for her afternoon nap. The last several weeks have been a grueling test. It seems that to succeed at motherhood, you almost have to be thrown into the pool to see if you will sink or swim. Peeta thinks I have become a natural already. Me? I'm not so sure.

I start when I feel lips on the pulse point of my neck, arms wrap around my middle from behind. I deflate like a balloon deprived of air, relaxing once I realize it's Peeta, the only man alive whom I would let touch me in this way.

I know what he wants. Ever since the sexual tension was destroyed between us, just before Riley's birth, we have been unable to keep our hands off each other. Oh, we control ourselves whenever Mother and Prim are home, but when we're alone…..

I lean into Peeta's warm body even as I try to resist his advances. He suckles my jawline insistently, and I can only whimper.

"We'll…. we'll wake her up," I pant, grasping for an excuse to not fuck him against the wall here and now.

"She sleeps like a rock," Peeta insists. "Besides, we can make it quick, just to be safe."

Too easy. How can he deflect anything, make me _feel_ anything, with a neatly-crafted phrase? It baffles me.

Peeta spins me around in his arms; the assertive side of him is coming out. Finding purchase on my sides, his hands inch up the fabric of my top as he kisses my lips.

I growl, half-exasperated, half-playful, into his mouth. He's won this round. But I'm going to make him cum first!

I help him remove my top and cast it aside before leaping into his arms and wrapping my legs around his waist. We stagger into our bathroom, kissing like mad, ripping at any clothing left on our bodies.

My eyes are already closed from the pleasure I sense washing over me. Soon, I feel water join in the dousing, as well as Peeta's lips kissing everywhere. Combine all three together, and is it any wonder that I am drowning in him?

We kiss rather conservatively now, our displays of affection becoming more tender, now that we each have the other where we want them. I giggle against Peeta's lips as he kisses me again, then pushes me up against the shower wall and swiftly enters me.

I lean into him, my hands splayed across his back. I am gasping, stunned at the pleasure Peeta is giving me; his size alone never ceases to amaze me! That he grows that big for me and me alone nearly makes me want to weep with joy.

Peeta's suckling of my shoulder suddenly becomes rougher, and he sinks a love bite into the skin there. "OH!" I yelp, and then nearly come unglued as Peeta lovingly sucks at the mark he has left.

"Uhhhh…. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta," I croon his name like a lullaby. "Harder, faster….." He obeys me, even as I rock my hips more frantically into his. Our intercourse now becomes a mad race towards who can get the other off first.

I win.

Peeta nearly collapses against me, staggering in my arms as he orgasms inside my vagina. I wait for him to pump it all out, before supporting him, slightly propping him up so he can work to finish me off. It only takes a couple of weaker thrusts for me to go spiraling off into the ether, milking his cock with my juices. Still exhausted, Peeta lets me hold him, and we both wait for our heart rates to return to normal.

"You make love to me divinely," I rasp.

"Only because I love you so much," Peeta gets out.

"Hmm," I smile, as I lean against his chest. "And when _did_ you first fall in love with me?"

The answer is not what I was expecting, to put it mildly.

"It was the first day of school," Peeta begins. "Kindergarten. You were wearing….." He adjusts his stance and shifts me in his embrace. "….a little red dress, and your hair was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out while we were waiting to line up."

I smile up at him, my interest piqued. "Your father? Why?"

"'See that little girl?' he says to me, pointing to you. 'I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

I gape at him, letting out an indignant laugh before slapping his chest. "You're joking!"

Peeta grins devilishly. "No, I swear I'm not. So I asked Dad, 'A coal miner? Why would she want a coal miner instead of you?' He replied, 'Because when he sings…. even the birds stop to listen.'"

I am no longer pregnant, so I can't really classify being moved to tears at this statement as mere mood swings. But, I cannot help it. It also makes me realize that the story is true. But Peeta is not done.

"Then, in music assembly later that day, the teacher asked who knew the Valley Song. And your hand shot straight up! You sang it for the whole class, and I could've sworn, I heard the birds outside the window fall silent. And that was it. I was in love, and have stayed in love ever since."

I prop my chin against his chest to stare up into his eyes, my smile beaming. "Well, I'm quite flattered, Mr. Mellark."

Peeta grins. "Anything for you, Mrs. Mellark."

I blink in astonishment. Last time I checked, Peeta and I were most definitely _not_ married. Actually, even after living together for months, I'm surprised he calls me that. But what's more shocking is _how much I like it_. Katniss Mellark. It has a nice ring to it!

Peeta is staring at me, eyes wide, clearly having caught his flub. He stumbles over his words trying to apologize. "I'm sorry, I…."

I laugh jovially. "Oh, Peeta, it's OK. But -" and I give him a chaste kiss on the lips. "- if you think that's the way you're gonna ask me to marry you, you might want to try a different angle."

Peeta raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Then you're _considering_ it?"

I pretend to think about it, then smile sweetly at him. "I'm considering it. Ask me again in a few months." Riley will be up any minute, so I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself. I can feel Peeta's eyes on me.

"Love the way you walk, sweetheart," he cracks.

I turn at the door, smirking. All right, I'll play along, flirt back. "Oh, do you now? What about this?" I strike my best model pose against the doorframe, making it as seductive as possible. Unfortunately, my towel won't cooperate and immediately falls to my feet. Peeta bursts out laughing.

"Now that's better - _much_ better - especially without the towel!" he cackles. "Go get our daughter before I jump on you again!"

Squealing, I retrieve the towel and prance out of the bathroom towards Riley's cries.


	20. Chapter 20: Reading of the Card

**Chapter 20: Reading of the Card**

Summer arrives brutally hot in District 12. The abrupt changing of the seasons only makes me aware of the passage of time. Can Riley really be three months old already?

June's ushering in also reminds me of what else is to come. The first anniversary of Gale's death is in a few weeks, and with it, the 75th Hunger Games, or 3rd Quarter Quell. Our district is sure to be in the spotlight, as the last time there was a special edition of the Games, our very own Haymitch Abernathy won the crown.

But even before the Reaping, there is the Reading of the Card.

The mandatory programming gets Peeta, Mother and Prim home early that Friday evening. I put Riley to bed just after dinner as the others set up the TV downstairs. One little infant not watching won't send the Peacekeepers into a frenzy.

The seal of Panem appears just as I arrive in the living room. The anthem accompanies the symbol, and we soon see President Coriolanus Snow.

"Good evening. This is the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games. Before we announce this Quell's twist, a recap of our past Quarter Quells is in order."

Thank goodness there are only two. As long as he makes it quick, we won't be here for awhile.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that it was their choice to initiate violence, the districts were made to hold a special election, and vote for the tributes who would represent it."

I wonder what that would have been like. Picking the kids who had to go. It is worse, I think, to be turned over by your own neighbors than by the fickle fate of the Reaping Ball.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, each district was required to send twice as many tributes."

I imagine facing a field of 47 instead of 23. That was the year Haymitch won, and I suddenly discover a new respect for the old drunk. Winning against double the odds is quite the feat. No wonder he's a legend!

"And now we honor our 3rd Quarter Quell." At a boy's presentation, Snow selects an envelope that reads '75' before producing the card. Without pausing, he reads, "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder that fathers led their children into battle, 24 boys will be reaped. No females."

Prim casts her eyes down to the floor, perhaps relieved she is spared the Reaping for another year. I should be, too. But Mother looks sick. And frankly, so am I. While also brimming with anger. 23 boys dead. 23 less families to create, or worse, 23 more fatherless children. Just like Riley…. It's disgusting!

Panic suddenly sets in. Peeta….. Oh God, no, no. Just when I've found love again, and he might be taken away from me, from Riley! The chances are double now….. No, I won't lose him the way I lost Gale! I try to appear calm as I stand from the couch.

"Peeta…. May I speak to you alone?"

Peeta nods. He knows. Knows what I'm about to ask him. We step into the stairwell leading to our bedroom. I spin to face him.

"How many times is your name in that bowl?" I demand.

Peeta reaches out to me, rubbing my arms. "Katniss, calm down…."

"No, I won't calm down! Not until I know if the odds are in our favor! How. Many. Times?" I repeat more forcefully.

Peeta counts in his head. "Six. I've never had to take out tesserae. And even with two boys, my name can't be drawn two times in a row. Katniss, trust me: my chances of getting reaped are close to zero."

He's not wrong. By contrast, Gale _did_ have to take out tesserae. At his Reaping last year, his name was in 42 times. Muddled in with thousands of names, a mere six _is_ close to zero.

But not _exactly_ zero. If the unthinkable happens…..

I sigh. "We have to pray. Pray that you aren't picked."

At this point, that's all we can do.


	21. Chapter 21: Quarter Quell Reaping

**Chapter 21: Quarter Quell Reaping**

I awake early on Reaping Day. Although I would never show it to anyone except myself, I am frantic with worry. Worried for my new lover's safety.

My thoughts of what today might bring are so dark that I want to find something to do to occupy myself. I wait, actually hoping that Riley will wake up, screaming for her morning milk. When that fails to materialize, I decide to lose myself in watching Peeta sleep.

I find my new sexual partner to be most attractive in this state. I adore the way his blond hair falls into his eyes. The way his spun-gold eyelashes mix in with even these strands. The way the sunlight from our window trickles across his skin.

And all of that could be taken away from me in a matter of hours.

The Quell twist is quite cruel, in a way. If Peeta is reaped, I could not volunteer as the female tribute to join him in the arena. And even if we could be together, what would become of Riley, to lose both her parents? It's bad enough she might lose her adoptive father. If only there was no chance he could go! We would never be separated. Hunger Games or not, if it were in my power to remain at Peeta's side, I would do it! I stroke his hair back and find myself beginning to sing:

 _"What would I give, to live where you are? What would I pay, to stay here beside you? What would I do to see you, smiling at me? Where would we walk? Where would we run? If we could stay all day in the sun? Just you and me. And I could be part of your world….. Ah, ah, ah, ah….."_

Far, far away, I can hear someone - a male's voice - calling my lover's name: "Peeta? My boy! Somebody! Anybody!"

The voice draws closer, and I recognize it as Mr. Mellark. Not wanting him to see Peeta and I in bed together, I leap into the bathroom. Moments later, I hear Mother let Peeta's dad in, then the baker himself bursting into my room.

"Peeta! There you are!"

Peeta is shaken awake with a start. "Dad? What are you doing here? You know I stay here at night!"

"You didn't show up for your shift! Oh, Peeta! You just adore making my heart race, don't you?" Mr. Mellark is obviously in some kind of distress. It's also clear that Peeta has no idea what his father is doing in my room.

"Well, you could have at least knocked! I was having the most wonderful dream. A girl rescued me from drowning. She pulled me right out of the surf…. and she was singing….."

I blush furiously, wondering if I accidentally inserted myself into Peeta's dream. Mr. Mellark just looks amused.

"Sure you didn't take a tumble, dear boy? Fall out of bed, perhaps? Must be an old memory, that's all - your mother singing a lullaby over your cradle….."

Peeta frowns. "It didn't _sound_ like Mother…. It just sounded so real…. she was real…."

"Of course she was," the baker indulges.

I now choose this time to emerge, fully dressed, from the bathroom.

"Ah, there you are, Katniss!" Mr. Mellark greets, which makes Peeta realize that he woke up without me there. I cross to the bed and give Peeta a gentle kiss, not giving a damn now whether his father sees or not.

"I got up early to get ready. I'll go wake Riley."

* * *

The District Square is packed with people, even though nobody wants to be out in this heat. Unlike most years, there is only one roped-off pen, split by age group, for the boys. We females and adults are made to stand off to one side.

I just want this over with. Riley is getting restless, probably because she is too warm. I am about to wonder if I should slip out of line and find some shade - Peacekeepers be damned! - when Greasy Sae offers me the shade from her umbrella. I smile in thanks.

The Mayor finally takes his place. He begins by speaking of the Dark Days. This is all standard procedure, so I tune him out. Besides, Riley is more important…. and far more entertaining, as she keeps trying to play with the pearls around my neck and stuff them in her mouth. I hear barely audible chuckles and I can tell others in the crowd are more focused on my baby, too.

The Mayor moves on to the reading of Past Hunger Games Victors. This is also the same year after year. In 74 years, District 12 has had exactly two triumphs in the arena. Pathetic. I bow my head in silence, without even thinking, for Duke Vedaldi, the gentleman who won the 13th Games and has been dead at least a decade or two. Then, there's our living Victor of the 50th Games, Haymitch Abernathy. I am momentarily distracted from Riley as I see the drunken fool attempt to give our escort a hug. Peacekeepers have to support him and help him back to his chair like he's a child. God, what a shitshow! He may be a legend, but at this point, it's only for the embarrassing entertainment he gives the rest of Panem every year.

Effie Trinket, our escort, finally reaches the podium and goes for the solitary Reaping Ball. "No ladies this year!" she trills. I clutch Riley close to me. Please, God, please….

"Peeta Mellark!"

I want to scream in agony. Goddamnit to Hell! He wasn't supposed to be picked! Instead, I can only cling to my daughter and sob. God is cruel! No…. there is no God! Not if he is willing to sacrifice both of the men I have loved!

Peeta shows more composure than I do, as he bravely takes the stage. Even through my tears, I can tell he has eyes only for me.

Effie either pretends not to notice my grief, or simply doesn't care, as she merrily plucks a second slip from the Ball. I hastily pray that at least Peeta's district partner will be young and weak…. maybe give him an easier time…..

"Bond Spindle!"

OK, he's not twelve. More like eighteen. And he's at least as strong as Peeta, by the looks of him. But he's blubbering like the baby I now rock. I can't help but smirk. If he's an emotional weakling, maybe Peeta can take him out.

Peeta and Bond are then made to shake hands before being escorted into the Justice Building.

* * *

The crowd has not even begun to disperse before I am lunging for the doors. I am the first one in line, even ahead of Peeta's family. His witch of a mother looks like she wants to cluck in disapproval, but her husband stops her. I am grateful.

The Peacekeepers let Riley and I in and guide me to a room without even asking me which tribute I want to see. I wonder: is Peeta's and my relationship that _public_?

As soon as the doors open, I rush inside. There he is by the couch, looking so handsome in his suit. I hear the lock click into place. I throw myself into Peeta's arms.

"You have to come home to us!" I say immediately.

Peeta looks resigned. "Katniss, I don't know if the odds are in my favor. Maybe it will be easier if you just let me go…."

"NO!" I shriek. "Am I not allowed to be selfish? Is my child not allowed to have both parents?"

"Katniss…"

"I won't lose you the way I lost Gale!" I vow. "I love you!"

It's the first time I've ever uttered the words to him. He stares at me for a long moment. Then -

His arms are sure and strong as he sweeps me back into them. His lips crush mine. My eyes flutter shut. With one free hand, I drape it across his neck, tangle my fingers into his hair, with an unholy moan. "Mmmmmm…."

Our tongues battle for dominance in my mouth, and I can sense nothing but the man who embraces me. I can barely wonder if we are smushing Riley between us, but she isn't crying, so she must be fine. At long last, Peeta and I break the kiss, gasping.

"Guess I'm just gonna have to win, then," and I am heartened that my love is now smiling. "Until then…. you're gonna be all right, Katniss Everdeen. You always were."

He kisses me again, one last time: passionate, and yet still gentle. When he releases me, he turns to Riley.

"I'll be back," and he kisses her forehead. "Alive. I promise."

I hear the doors open behind us, and hands seize me to pull me out. I cannot hold onto Peeta for another moment.

"I love you, Katniss!"

"I love you, too, Peeta!"

The doors slam shut ominously.

* * *

 **A/N: All right! Now we are going to start seeing things from Peeta's point of view. And if you are wondering where Katniss's song came from…. don't talk. Please. Just don't talk.**


	22. Chapter 22: Washed-Up Battleaxe

**Chapter 22: Washed-Up Battleaxe**

 **Peeta's POV**

The first part of the train ride is a solemn affair. Bond Spindle and I sit side-by-side at the dining car table, not speaking, for at least the ride out of District 12.

I finally get my thoughts off of the family I have left behind, my adopted daughter, the love of my life, and use Bond as the new canvas for my mind.

I do not know much about Bond Spindle. He's a year older than me in school. And I know he's the illegitimate son of a Seam weaver and Cray, the Head Peacekeeper. That sick officer has impregnated many desperate women who visit him; the ones who don't miscarry are forbidden to have an abortion unless their health is in danger. By my estimate, Bond is one of six or seven bastard children in our district with Cray as their father.

Bond must catch me glancing at him, for he now addresses me.

"You're shacking up with that Everdeen girl, right? The one Hawthorne knocked up?"

I nod silently, stiffly, not exactly appreciating how my district partner has decided to put my romantic relationship.

"How's it feel?"

"What do you mean?" I inquire.

"Being the substitute plaything?"

I do not even try to hide the scowl. Three sentences spoken to me, and this guy is already starting to get on my nerves. Illegitimate son or not, the fact that he is Peacekeeper offspring - and everyone knows it - means Bond's gotten more breaks in life than even I have, as a Merchant; more than Katniss could ever dream of. I am actually quite glad he finally got dealt a bad hand with the Games.

We are interrupted by the train car door hissing open. And there he stands. Mr. Haymitch Abernathy. A glass of spirits already in his hand, he just looks us over once before giving a small smile.

"Congratulations." Well, at least he says it with _some_ sarcasm. He plops unceremoniously into the seat across from Bond.

"So you're our mentor?" I ask. It's an obvious question, and therefore stupid, but at least Haymitch doesn't mock me for it.

"You never can tell, kid," he sighs.

If Bond thought my icebreaker was dumb, he doesn't express it, either, instead asking the old drunk, "So. What do you usually do first?"

Haymitch cocks his head almost stupidly, the drink in his hand sloshing. "Do?"

"As our mentor."

"Mentor?"

I don't blame Bond for quickly tiring of this game of call-and-response, for his voice begins to grow testy. "Yeah. Our mentor. You're supposed to get us sponsors and give us advice."

Haymitch thinks about it, his mouth drawn. "Here's some advice: stay alive." Then he bursts out laughing.

Bond stands in a rage. "You're not funny, old man!"

"And neither are you!" Haymitch parries right back, his mood changing from insane glee to vicious anger on a dime. "I gotta speak to the Bread Boy anyway, so why don't you get lost, ya Peacekeeper _bastard_ child?"

Dead silence. Fuming, Bond storms out of the train car. When he's gone, Haymitch turns to me with an earnestness I haven't seen before. The shift is once again so sharp, so disturbing, I begin to wonder if the drunken thing is nothing more than an elaborate act.

"All right, kid, listen: when I ask you a question, you're going to answer to me, and you're going to answer to me straight. Yes or No. You living with the Everdeen gal?"

I nod. "Yes."

"You married?"

"No."

"The baby - is it yours?"

A pause. Ordinarily, I would be annoyed that Haymitch is giving the exact same drilling that Bond did, but this is important. Would how I answer help or detract from my chances at being helped, to the extent that this old drunk gives it? Somehow I think not. Best to be honest. "No. It's Hawthorne's."

I see something flash through Haymitch's eyes right then: pain. The pain of having a tribute get so close, only to be denied at the last moment. I see his mouth form the word, "Gale," barely getting it out.

"They're not my family in any official sense." I offer up.

"Doesn't matter. It's bad enough the kid's biological father is dead. No good losing the adoptive one, too. I'm going to help you get home to them."

I am stunned. Overwhelmed. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you."

"How? You don't know me!"

"Don't have to. I know I like you more than Cray's spawn," and he jerks a thumb towards the door.

"But what about Bond?"

"Peeta, if you ever get out of here alive, you're going to find that Victors _choose_ between their tributes. Up against the Spindle brat, you have everything going for you: In comparison to him, I like you more. You're lika _ble_. You have a compelling life story. And you're in good shape, which means you can at least learn how to fight. Bond checks none of those boxes. So I'm going with you."

My eyes fill with tears, and for the first time since I left Katniss, I feel…. hope. "Thank you," I get out.

Haymitch waves me off. "Thanks has nothing to do with it, kid. Now send that Peacekeeper's scum in here. Don't tell him anything I've told you; with him, I at least have to go through the motions."

I turn for the door.

"And one more thing: you ever see Katniss again, tell her I tried to get the Hawthorne boy out alive. I really did try."

And I nod, now seeing my mentor in a whole new light.


	23. Chapter 23: Training and Interviews

**Chapter 23: Training and Interviews**

We reach the Capitol the following day. The media is all over us, which surprises me until I remember that Haymitch is technically the reigning champion of this Quell thing. Bond and I meet our stylists, and we are whisked away to get prepped. Every inch of me is scrubbed, and for a moment, I let my thoughts wander to how I used to wash Katniss while she was pregnant with Riley.

 _No_ , I tell myself. _Don't think about them now. You have a job to do._

Before I know it, I am being hustled over to a stable just beyond the City Circle. It is a petri dish of testosterone, with two dozen boys laughing, joking, occasionally rough-housing amongst the horses and chariots. It only reminds me about how all of them will have to die if I am to see my lover and daughter again.

Bond and I are ushered into our chariot. We do not acknowledge each other, and that is just fine by me. We don't have to be friends, and soon enough we're going to be enemies; might as well start that process now. Wouldn't be surprised if the little shit asks Haymitch to coach us separately.

We bring up the rear of the Tribute Parade, so I have already heard the cheers for the Capitol's favorite tributes and wonder, as we ride out into the light, how Bond and I will measure up. Our costumes certainly attract notice, and roars of approval split the air. Finally, we reach the Circle itself where President Snow gives a speech.

As soon as the anthem ends following the speech, Bond and I are practically yanked off the chariots by Haymitch and whisked into the Tribute Training Center, all the way up to the twelfth floor. Our mentor orders us to bed without so much as a high-five; we have to be well rested for tomorrow.

Haymitch isn't kidding, either, for Training begins the next day. Following his advice, I decide to learn something new without showing what I know well (that would be lifting weights and throwing heavy things). I take up fencing, using small broadswords, and find that I get the hang of it quickly. I am also pleased to discover that I'm a natural at throwing spears.

As I turn next to the edible plants section, trying to remember all the informal lessons Katniss would give me about which roots are poisonous and which are not, I notice a boy observing me from across the Training Center. Slick hair, round face and piercing green eyes behind rimmed glasses, he studies me almost like how a mathematician would study a complex equation.

He approaches me later at lunch.

"Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

"Not at all," I smile, and he takes the seat across from me. He offers his hand. "Martin Epstein, District 5, at your service, sir."

"Peeta Mellark." We shake hands.

"You're from 12, aren't you?"

I smirk. "Is it that obvious?"

"With a mentor like yours? Yes! Besides, he was the winner the last time they held one of these things."

If I were as suspicious as, say, Katniss when she has her guard up, I would wonder if he is just trying to learn secrets from me about how Haymitch won. But Martin seems friendly enough; just making conversation.

We swap stories. Out in 5, they harness electric, solar and nuclear energy. I tell him about the coal mines in Twelve, or at least, what I know from Katniss.

"….But that's for the poorer people in our district. I'm a baker, come from a long line of them."

Martin smirks. "Ah, if only the arena was a giant cake! We could get all the others to eat themselves sick and then just cut them open."

I chuckle, and the bell rings to return to Training. Martin sticks out his hand as I get up to leave.

"Allies in the arena?"

I pause. Haymitch _did_ tell me to try and make some friends before going in, to lay the groundwork for possible allies later. I ruled Bond out, of course. But Martin…. I decide to go with my gut.

I shake his hand. "Sure."

* * *

Martin and I train together for the next two and a half days. We become quite close. At the end of the third day, we have our private sessions with the Gamemakers. I go second to last, before Bond - as there is no gender demarcation, we have been sorted by alphabetical order within each district.

That night, we stay up with our stylists, Haymitch and Effie to watch the scores broadcast. Martin pulls an 8, which is highly respectable. I pretty much zone out for the rest. Careers of Districts 1, 2 and 4 all score 10s. Low to medium for the rest, minus a standout or two.

"And now we have the handsome Peeta Mellark of District 12, with a score of….. 9."

Effie squeezes my arm in encouragement, beaming. "We can work with that!" she promises. Though he doesn't show anything on his face, I can tell Haymitch is pleased.

"And last but not least, Bond Spindle, with a score of…. 10."

 _He beat me_ , I think in almost disbelief. I chance a glance at my district partner. _He doesn't look like 10 material to me_ , I think. But I decide to be as cordial as ever and offer a "Congratulations." Bond just smirks his thanks.

It's not going to be easy getting home alive to Katniss and Riley….

* * *

The next night is the last night before we enter the arena. That means our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. The Capitol's favorite TV host is the consummate entertainer, changing us mere tributes into celebrity superstars.

As with the training scores, I only pay cursory attention to everyone except for Martin. My ally is a ready-made comedian, leaving the Capitol audience in stitches as he banters back and forth with Caesar in a nerdy, quirky manner. I give him a thumbs-up as he returns to his seat.

Finally, I am called, second-to-last, as usual.

"And here is our most attractive tribute this year, I think: Peeta Mellark, of District 12!" The audience roars, and I can hear particular shrieking from the women. I just smile good-naturedly, adding a touch of bashfulness as I wave and take my seat next to Caesar.

The first part of the interview is about as funny as Martin's. When Caesar asks what my favorite thing about the Capitol has been, I say the showers (somebody in the audience lets out a fangirl screech at this moment). I then turn it into a running gag by asking Caesar if I smell like roses and we take turns whiffing each other. Caesar looks like he is ready to cry from laughter.

"Oh, no more, no more, Peeta, you'll be the death of me. Death by laughter!"

"If only we could all die that way in the arena!" I crack. "The Hunger Games Comedy Show!" The audience chortles in agreement.

"Now, Peeta, to shift to a serious topic: at the Reaping, our cameras picked up someone who was very distresssssssed….. that you were picked." He annunciates the 'S' before turning to someone out there in the darkness. "Roll the footage!"

At the back of the hall, I suddenly see Katniss wailing as she holds baby Riley close to her. I try not to show any pain on my face, not even any emotion. I can't see myself in the cameras to tell if my poker face is working or not. The replay ends.

"Sources tell me," Caesar continues. "that that's your live-in girlfriend. And the baby is apparently not even yours! Scandalous! Is that not scandalous, folks?" The crowd murmurs in agreement. "Tell me, young Peeta: who are they?"

I can see Martin out of the corner of my eye. He is studying the spot where the footage once was with that same, intense look on his face when we first met. His eyes shift to me. I swallow, turning back to Caesar.

"Her name's Katniss Everdeen. Her baby is Riley. And I love them more than anything. They are my family." I hear murmurs in the audience, sad whispers.

"It must be hard, being away from them," Caesar offers.

"You have no idea," I breathe heavily.

"They are obviously _so_ important to you. Do you think they might be a distraction in the arena?"

"They're not a distraction, Caesar!" and I am barely able to keep my response within the bounds of exasperation, rather than shift into anger. To show rage might be seen as rebellious, and that's the last thing I need. "They're my family. And before you point out that they are not officially tied to me, I just want to say this: DNA and blood don't make a family. Only love can do that. And there is nothing I love more than my girlfriend, and my daughter. _Nothing_." I hiss the last word with intensity, then turn to where I know a camera is sure to pick up on me. "Katniss, if you're listening, kiss our child for me."

Little do I know that, far away in District 12, Katniss watches my plea from within the District Square. Not caring that all eyes are now on her, she plants a kiss on sleeping Riley's forehead.


	24. Chapter 24: Into the Arena

**Chapter 24: Into the Arena**

I do not sleep at all that night. So, Haymitch's rapping on my door in the morning is almost welcome. My mentor hustles me and Bond to the roof of the Training Center, where a hovercraft awaits.

"Any last advice?" I ask.

"Stay alive," Haymitch tells us grimly.

Bond and I are forced into seats, and the tracker is injected into an arm for each of us. Amidst the other tributes, I spy Martin; in the dim lighting of the plane, I see him give an almost imperceptible nod.

There are no windows, so even with the couple hours of flight, I cannot tell where we are going. When we finally do land, all the tributes are hustled down into underground tunnels that lead to separate holding cells. Inside mine, I find my stylist. As soon as the door shuts, I turn to her.

"Have you got it?"

She wordlessly presents me with a locket, and I click it open. Yes, the picture of a smiling Katniss, holding Riley and encouraging her to wave for the camera, is still there. I had worn it to the Reaping for luck, then had to surrender it to the Gamemakers who would inspect it, to see if it might give me an unfair advantage. I clasp the token around my neck, where it rests right over my heart.

"Ten seconds to launch." My stylist ushers me into the launch tube with a parting, "Good luck." Glass walls seal around me and I feel myself being pushed up, up, up.

At last, I emerge into sunlight. The light seems to come from all sides. When my eyes finally adjust, I can see why.

I am in a jungle. A _frozen-over_ jungle. Snow covers the trees. Snow blankets the Cornucopia, yards ahead of me and standing on a island in the middle of what looks like a frozen sea. The light bounces off the ice.

"Let the 75th Hunger Games begin! May the odds be ever in your favor!" Claudius Templesmith booms. The countdown begins. "10….9….."

When the gong sounds, I don't go right away. And it's a good thing I don't. I don't blindly trust the ice to hold me the way that some of the other tributes must. Indeed, the tribute immediately to my left launches off his pedestal, barely going three steps before the ice suddenly gives out from under him. His scream is cruelly cut off by the chilling waters that suck him down. A cannon sounds.

Cautiously, I step off my plate with one foot, then the other. The ice holds. I then begin to go at barely a jog, my feet hardly touching the white substance below me. It's slow, I know, and the Bloodbath will have already started by the time I get there, but if I can cross and get my hands on a weapon, I figure I'll have a fighting chance.

Looking down at my feet, I can only hear the sounds of cracking ice, screams of drowning tributes, and soon, the clash of weapons from boys who have managed to reach the horn.

"Peeta! PEETA!" I look up and to my left. There is Martin, on one of the rocky spokes used to separate every two tribute pedestals into icy wedges. He is laden with weapons, including swords and spears for me. "I have what we need! Come out to me and let's go!"

I change direction, going marginally faster now. Suddenly, feet from my ally, the ice cracks around me, leaving me stranded on a rickety ice flow. I try not to panic.

"Martin!"

"Just jump!"

I do, hoping I can reach the rocks, but I fall just short. The ice gives at my landing and I feel myself falling.

"No! -"

My cry is cut off by a sharp grip on my arm, as Martin literally hauls me up to the rocks and safety. We share a look.

"Run like hell," he gasps. And we do. We run into the winter wonderland until we can't run anymore. At last, we rest beside an imposing tree - with its wide trunk, I wonder if it is the biggest in the arena. Martin plops down in the snow.

"Sorting time," he begins. "Spear for you, sword for you, backpack for me…."

This goes on for a bit until everything has been divvied up fairly equally. Martin got an impressive haul from the Cornucopia, and I wonder just how many tributes he had to take out to get it. Before I can ask, Martin is up and wandering a bit into the trees; he comes back with his arms full of firewood. He starts up a fire almost immediately, waving me off when I try to help.

"It'll be ready soon, hopefully. You need to take off your boots and prepare to roast your feet before frostbite sets in."

I look down at my snowy arena outfit and figure he's right. The parka and snowshoes and pants keep you warm enough in the harsh wind. But in that frozen water…. I tear off my boots as soon as I see that Martin has the fire going. Then I stick my feet as close as I can to the flames with burning myself. I feel the effects after a little bit, and am grateful to Martin that he did not mess around.

About what I judge to be fifteen minutes later, a parachute lands in the snow patch just to our right. Martin scoops it up, muttering, "It better be what I think it is…. Oh, here we go!" He pulls out squares of white muslin, and returns to me.

"Heat packets. Stuff them into your boots. They should keep your feet warm as we travel." I do as he says, and then put the now-heated footwear back on. I don't feel as nervous about getting frostbite anymore.

There is a long silence while Martin tends the fire and I begin to cook what food we could find in our packs. There isn't much that _can_ be cooked - some raw beef, a can of beans - but it's a good enough meal for our first night. Hopefully, we can find some wildlife to hunt tomorrow. At last, my ally speaks.

"I know you heard enough from Caesar, and there isn't much left to tell, but…. if you're not the little tyke's father, who is?"

I swallow my scoop of beans a little too fast so that it burns my throat. "You know the guy who went up against Cato in the finale last year?"

"No!" and Martin stares at me with wide eyes. "Is he really? I was rooting for him!"

I nod grimly. "So was I…. though, perhaps not as enthusiastically."

Martin nods knowingly, the firelight dancing across his face. "Jealous, huh? I would be, too, tell you the truth."

I nod.

"Last question, I promise. How'd you get his girl to fall in love with you, then?"

I chuckle awkwardly. "Now, _that's_ a whole other story." I don't really want to say, and am unsure if I should; Katniss's privacy has been damaged enough. Thankfully, I am saved by a series of BOOMs in the distance. Martin turns his head to the sound, not even phased.

"Bloodbath's over." We count in our heads. When the last cannon fades on the wind, 13 tributes are accounted for as dead.

"11 left to play. Fairly average," Martin throws out there. I don't answer. What I _really_ want to know is who lives and who dies, exactly. I can make some fairly reasonable guesses beyond Martin and myself, but….

My answer comes about an hour later, once the sun sets. Through a space in the canopy, the Capitol seal appears in the sky alongside the anthem. We see the faces of the dead.

The first to appear are the boys from 3. Then it is the boys from 6. Martin's district partner - a scrawny little twelve-year-old - made it out, then. Only one boy from 7. All from 8 through 11. That's it.

"Good on Jesse!" Martin must be referring to his district partner, and seems genuinely pleased that he survived. He turns to me. "Your buddy got away, too!"

"Yes, I'm real enthused!" I tell my ally sarcastically, and he laughs.

"OK…. not a buddy, then." He peers at the fading embers of the fire. "We'd better get some sleep. It's late."

And cramming into the single sleeping blanket Martin got from the Bloodbath, we do, sharing our body heat.

* * *

 **A/N: Whoo boy! And we are a little over halfway there! More will come in due time. Until then, please REVIEW! The ones I've gotten already have been excellent!**


	25. Chapter 25: Guts in the Snow

**Chapter 25: Guts in the Snow**

Martin and I wake up bright and early the next morning to go hunting for breakfast. After about an hour, I spy a snow rabbit and manage to spear the thing. Cooked raw over our fire back at camp, and it makes a hearty meal. Then we stamp out any vestiges of our presence, and start wandering.

Neither of us is really sure what we are looking for. Fellow tributes, perhaps? Gamemaker traps to dodge? The remainder of the morning provides a decent rest from the non-stop action we encountered the day before.

At what I figure is around noon, Martin holds up a hand. I stop, silent. My ally listens to seemingly nothing. Then -

"Oh no! Careers!" He suddenly lunges at me. "Get down!"

We topple into a thicket of nearby bramble. I push Martin off of me, ready for a fight if it comes to that, regretful though it might be at this early stage. "What's gotten into you, Martin?"

"Shut it!"

And now I hear it. Whoops accompanied by the sharp crack of foliage and underbrush, little cries for help. The sources of the sound emerge into the clearing just ahead. It's two Careers, pursuing a little boy, finally catching up to him and tackling him. I see Martin's eyes grow fearful.

"Jesse," he whispers.

Martin's district partner is now being pinned down by the two Careers. One plants a knee into the little boy's stomach to hold him down as he begins to draw his sword slowly down his arm. Even where I crouch, I can see the blade leave a trail of blood. Jesse's screams are agonizing.

 _How awful!_ , I think. _They're torturing him!_

"Peeta. Peeta!" Martin hisses to me. "I bet you if we sneak up on each one, we could bring them down and free the boy, before the others knew what was happening."

I want to wince. Going up against Careers is a risky bet in _any_ situation; I've watched enough Games to know. And even if Martin and I could pull it off, we'd be stuck with a young tribute who would almost certainly become a liability later. But, this is Martin's district partner. If I help now, and we both make it far enough…. Martin could return the favor by helping me take down Bond. I sigh.

"All right."

If Martin hears the clear hesitancy in my voice, he doesn't acknowledge it. "It's now or never." Then he slips quietly out of the bramble and crouch-runs to a snowbank about a quarter-ways around the perimeter of the clearing, so that he's behind the Career watching the torturing spectacle.

Guess I'm taking the sadistic one. I pull a knife and position myself so that the torturing Career is perfectly blocking my path of the observing one. Then I creep out of the bramble and sneak up behind the bastard.

I trip on a tree root. The Career is just starting to turn his back when my knife awkwardly plunges into his shoulder blade. I continue my fall and roll to the side as he howls in pain.

Epic fail.

The other Career, seeing trouble, starts towards the commotion. Martin has no other choice. He leaps out from behind the snowbank and tackles his target into the white fluff. My ally must know some basic wrestling, for he gets his enemy pinned almost as soon as they hit the ground. A blade slashes across his target's stomach, then his throat.

BOOM.

My wounded Career, the knife still in his shoulder, whips out a scythe and starts for me. I jump to my feet. I dodge the first blow by leaping back, so he slices only air. The Career lunges again with an over-the-head attack, but I manage to stay his hand…. just as I trip over the same tree root again. I fall back, taking my adversary with me, so that we land right on top of poor Jesse. I hear a muffled scream, and I shift myself so I am at least not crushing the boy's lungs.

The Career is trying to bring the scythe all the way down, but I keep it at bay with everything I have. _Martin, where are you?_

There is suddenly another howl from the Career, and he momentarily swings the scythe back behind him. A bloodied knife blocks the swipe, then a hand twists the larger weapon out of the Career's hand before bringing his arm all the way behind his back. The knife goes to his throat.

The Career's eyes barely register that he has lost before a flash of silver ends his life.

BOOM.

I am momentarily blinded as red spatters my eyes. I wipe it away and roll to the side, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

Our desperate fight has left the snow stained red with blood. The eerie trace of violence, represented by such clashing colors, reminds me of a fairy tale my father used to read to me as a child, about a Queen who pricked her finger and let her blood drip onto the snow.

A choking sound snaps me out of my thoughts. I look back to Jesse and see that he is convulsing; he must have already lost a lot of blood from his arm. _Too_ much blood.

I look to Martin, who is doubled over and panting, my knife still in his hand. His eyes meet mine, tinged with sadness. Even with our best efforts, we were too late. I crawl over to Jesse. The little boy barely has the strength to turn his head, and he reaches out to me.

"Help…. me…."

I want to cry, as I look at this little kid, and imagine what Riley will look like at his age. It fills me with pity. "How?" I ask gently.

"Make it….. quick….."

I glance back at Martin and his eyes are glassy. No way he'll be able to handle killing his own district partner. He's tired enough as it is. I guess I'll have to do the wretched deed.

Gathering Jesse in my lap, I put him in a headlock and look away. I snap his neck sharply to the side and his form grows still. The final cannon sounds.

Martin offers a hand and helps me to my feet. It only now just dawns on me how bloodied _we_ are; never mind the snow. Seeing other people's blood literally on my hands makes me feel…. monstrous.

And one more thing comes to mind as we stumble away: "OK, New Rule - from now on, we come up with a plan _before_ we go into battle. I don't do improvising very well."

Martin can only give a half-hearted chuckle.


	26. Chapter 26: Avalanche!

**Chapter 26: Avalanche!**

The rest of that second day is pretty uneventful. I feel grimy in my clothes with all the blood still on me; and I can tell Martin does, too. For a moment, I consider breaking a patch of ice somewhere and doing laundry, until I remember that we'd essentially be surrendering ourselves to extreme chill and thus, certain death.

We make camp as nightfall arrives, and by the time we have a decent fire going, the anthem is playing in the sky.

The Careers we took out are each from separate districts: one from 2, and the other from 4. Then we see Jesse, and we bow our heads in respect. That's it for tonight.

I turn to Martin. "Do you think something went wrong with the Career alliance?"

He shrugs. "Who even knows?"

Then I realize: with our kills today, we are already down to the Final 8. Tributes who make it that far have their friends and family interviewed. Will they interview Katniss for me? I can practically count on it, because _ratings_! They probably won't even let my parents or brothers get a word in edgewise!

And what of Bond? All I know of his mother is that she's somewhat elderly, and it probably wouldn't look good to interview someone like that from the Seam. Interviewing Cray, a District Head Peacekeeper, would probably be even more awkward, not to mention garner bad imaging for a show that caters to Panem's elite.

After dinner, Martin and I repeat our technique from last night and settle down to sleep.

Once again, we wake up early and fix breakfast - a couple of squirrels who unwittingly became target practice for our knife throwing. Then, my ally and I struggle on.

I can't tell how long we have been walking when I suddenly hear a violent rumble. Martin and I look back. In the distance, I can see what looks to be a giant cloud rolling over the trees towards us.

I don't know if Martin somehow reads my thoughts, or was thinking the same thing himself, for he says slowly, "I don't think that's a cloud…." Understanding crosses his face, and suddenly he is shoving me forward. I stumble in the snow. "Run. RUN!"

We sprint blindly through the trees, not even knowing where we are going. I know that this has to be a Gamemaker trap. But what _kind_ of trap, exactly?

I am jolted back into reality when Martin abruptly forces me to change direction, making for a large tree similar to the one we camped under on our first day.

"Climb. You always want to be on high ground for an avalanche. Now, move!"

 _Avalanche?_ I think almost dumbly. But I do as Martin says and begin to scale the tree frantically.

"Don't stop until I say so! I'm right behind you!" I hear Martin from below. He is barely audible over the rumbling of what I now understand to be snow, getting closer and closer. How high am I now? 20, 25 feet? I don't know.

Martin calls a halt when I reach what seems to be a sturdy branch, wide enough for the two of us to perch on. I pull my friend up beside me. We watch the horizon, seeing the tidal wave of snow advancing. It is not at eye level, maybe ten feet below where we are.

"Let's just ride it out. We should be OK!" I advise. Martin nods grimly.

The snow finally reaches us. It engulfs the jungle floor and surrounds our tree, quickly flowing past us like a river with too many rapids.

Then, I hear the cannons. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

If I had to bet, that was the rest of the Career alliances. Plus one other poor soul. But who? Is it Bond?

CRACK! A section of our branch just ahead of me breaks off, sending Martin tumbling into space!

"NO!" I lunge in a wild dive and manage to grab his hand.

It is the ultimate tableau: me flat on my stomach on what's left of the branch, dangling Martin precariously over a tsunami of snow.

"Martin!"

"Peeta! I need you to let go! The branch won't hold us both!"

And he's right; I can see it sagging under both our weights as I look back. But I can't bring myself to do it.

"I'm not going to do that to you!"

"Peeta, you need to go home! To your girl! Your daughter! It's time to let go; it's better this way! Everything's going to be alright!"

"How do you know?" I cry. "How do you know something bad isn't gonna happen?"

"I don't! You're gonna have to trust me!"

I am running out of time. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face away.

I let go.

"WIIIIIINNNNNNNN!" my ally calls in a chilling Doppler effect, as he plunges to his death in the snow below.


	27. Chapter 27: Have to Go On

**Chapter 27: Have to Go On**

The day after losing Martin is absolute hell.

Cracking ice I could deal with. Careers I could deal with. I even dealt with a fucking avalanche while losing my ally!

But a blizzard? Its merciless winds and torrent of snow just might kill me.

It's me or Bond now. But even if I escape this tornado of white, can I really find it within myself to beat the Peacekeeper's bastard kid? He scored higher than me in Training, and he's made it this far, same as I have. It's clear by now that I underestimated him. And so did Haymitch.

I stumble to my knees, sinking in the snow up to my thighs. Flakes pummel my eyes, sticking to my parka hoodie, my gloves, everywhere.

I try desperately to think of something warm, and my thoughts end up flying to Katniss and to baby Riley. They are waiting for me back in District 12. What would happen to them if I….. never returned?

And with that, I suddenly find my strength renewed. I have to go on! For Katniss! For Riley!

For fathers everywhere!

I rise to my feet. Shielding my face, I trudge forward with a vigor into the howling winds. And I pray that the snow does not claim me…..

* * *

 **A/N: All right, everybody, you're gonna have to bear with me. Katniss is going to have an interlude in the next chapter. I think after that, we break up Peeta's perspective one other time, and then it remains consistent for the rest of the story.**


	28. Chapter 28: Blood Money

**Chapter 28: Blood Money**

 **Katniss's POV**

I watch Peeta struggling through the snow as I feed Riley milk from her bottle. I want to weep at his physique - not even a hundred hours in the arena and he already looks so thin.

The District Square is packed with people, and likely will be for however long the Quell lasts. With that boy Martin's death, District 12 is guaranteed a winner for the first time in a quarter-century.

And the winner has to be Peeta.

The remarkable thing is that, amongst my fellow citizens, the divide is not even close. All of the Seam and at least two-thirds of the Merchants support Peeta. The remainder - a contingent of about thirty souls - are rooting for Bond.

There's just one problem: in between coverage of the remaining tributes, pundits have revealed the prices for sponsor gifts have spiked too high. Higher than even the mentors can manage.

And it's clear that Peeta needs help, and _will_ need help, if he is to defeat Bond. Cray's offspring is a legitimate threat; his weapon of choice, the mace, killed four tributes at the Cornucopia Bloodbath. But with prices too high, no one can afford to send Peeta a gift that could protect him against the spiky balls.

At least, no one in the _Capitol_.

Sometimes, when sponsor gifts become too expensive, the Districts with tributes still living will rally their people together and raise money, to then teleport those funds along to the Capitol and purchase a gift on the tribute's behalf. Occasionally, it will work. Many times it doesn't. But in the instances it has worked, it has meant the difference between life and death. The _only_ reason Finnick Odair won a decade ago was because his beloved District 4 rallied and raised enough money to purchase a trident - the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena.

District 12, by contrast, is new to this. Most of our tributes have never gotten this far. And even when Delly and Gale got close to the end last year, there wasn't enough time to buy them a gift that might have helped them defeat Cato.

Thankfully, _that_ is the precious advantage we now have with Peeta. With him and his last competitor on literally opposite sides of the arena, time _is_ on our side.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and there's Greasy Sae, clutching a catalog in her hand. "It says here they have something called a mail shirt. It protects against weapons like a mace. Peeta could wear it under his parka!" She checks the paper again. "Oh! And we could even throw in a helmet with that as a matched set - for a discount!"

I brighten, suddenly hopeful. "How much?"

Sae checks. "Brand new mail shirt with a used helmet…. cheapest is going for 100 coins."

I gawp. Not even the _Merchants_ could afford that asking price! They might be able to scrap together 60 of that total, at maximum. For us Seam folk? There's no way.

"Don't look at me like that, dearie! We're going to do whatever we can - beg, borrow. Might even steal if we can get away with it. Peeta deserves this! You deserve to be happy, and that child needs a daddy!"

She turns to the folks around us. "Everybody! We're going to try and raise funds for a gift for Peeta. It's a lot, but for this boy, sacrifices have to be made! Who's with me?"

"Count me in!" calls Rooba the butcher.

"Me too!" adds Darius, a sympathetic Peacekeeper whom I consider a friend.

Thom, the Miner Foreman, is also in. Mother, Prim and the rest of the Hawthornes soon join the cause.

"Time to hunt for some coins!" Sae orders. "Scrounge for as many as you can, and meet back at the Hob in an hour!"

We split, running to find whatever gold we can scrap up.

 _Hang on, Peeta. We're coming._

* * *

An hour later, we have made some progress, but not enough. Every last coin that we have hidden away is slapped onto Greasy Sae's counter. Thom counts them up. 48 - just under half of what we need.

"That's it?" I ask desperately. "But there's gotta be more cash somewhere!"

Thom shakes his head sadly. "If we give up any more, we'll starve."

"What about the Merchants?" Hazelle asks hopefully.

"They're divided. The Bond camp would put pressure on our allies to not give us anything," Rooba points out.

"Maybe we should just….. use what we have to buy Peeta a shield and hope for the best?" Darius suggests.

If I wasn't so stubborn, I might agree to that route. There doesn't seem to be any other way. But I'm so close to getting my lover back, I won't just be pressured into giving up!

And besides, I realize: there _is_ another way to get more money. As Sae said, sacrifices must be made.

* * *

Close to midnight at the end of Peeta's fourth day in the arena, I approach Cray's door. I am clothed in the blue Reaping gown I wore for my ultimately-canceled soirée with him a year ago.

There will be no escaping my fate this time. But if it works…. I will never have to suffer such humiliation again.

I knock.

Cray opens his door a crack. He glowers. "You're out past curfew, huntress," he growls. "What do you want?"

"I want money."

He barks out a laugh. "I don't give out money."

"You do when a woman has offered you sex!" I retort.

Cray pauses. His brow furrows. "This isn't a trick like last year, is it? You would…. give yourself to me?"

I gulp. "If I did….. would you pay 50 coins so we could buy a gift for Peeta?" With that, maybe I could then scrap for the last two some other way.

"Yes. But…. you must promise to stay with me the whole night."

Oh God. But I take a deep breath and nod. "You have my word."

"Done!" He opens the door all the way and ushers me inside. The foyer is dimly lit.

"Wait," and I turn back to the old man. "What about my son? Why should I help you?"

I fear that he has trapped me. After all, if Cray did _not_ help me and Bond won, Peeta would be out of the way. Cray would be free to pursue me as much as he wished. I think fast.

"You don't care for him. All you care about is sex; a pregnancy is just a side effect to you. Bond would only be of use to you in the Games, but after…." I can tell in his eyes that he knows I have figured out his scheme. Even more telling, he doesn't refute my accusation that he does not care for his son. I decide to sweeten the deal.

"It's a simple trade, Mr. Head Peacekeeper. I earn 50 coins, in exchange for you getting to sleep with me the whole night…. and the promise that I will never hunt illegally in District 12 again as long as I live."

Cray grins with maniacal glee and lunges for me. I whip out a knife from within my pocket. "One more thing: you use a condom, or I back out. Do we have a deal?"

Cray glowers, but he must realize that this is as good as it's gonna get. He sighs. "You have my word."

I smirk, and let the knife fall to the floor. "Done."

He's on me in a second. His hands clasp my face as he smashes his lips against mine. Though disgusted, I lean into him, draping my arms around his neck as I kiss him back.

Cray's hands roam to my back and move lower fast. Like last year, he gropes my bum, cupping a cheek in each hand. He squeezes the tender flesh there. I squirm slightly; his calloused fingers are unfamiliar, not comforting.

"No…. no…." I gasp out against Cray's mouth, pretending to play hard to get, even though I _really_ don't want this. Cray falls for it.

"Yes… yes…." he hisses. My leg is raised to his waist, and I hook it there to keep it in place. Cray's hand slinks up my thigh, slips under the hem of my blue dress. His fingers find my mother's garter. The bastard doesn't even try to find the clasp; he just rips the fabric, splitting the thing in two. It drops to the floor beside the discarded knife.

Cray picks me up, carrying me to a room just off the foyer. He flings me down onto what feels like an old cot, placed just underneath a window. Using all my willpower to keep kissing Cray, I help him undress me. He tosses my dress away as though it is trash, before pulling his pants down to his ankles. I refrain from showing any disgust at the sight of his bulging member. It's sickening how such an old guy can still manage to get it up.

I break the kiss, both of us panting. "Condom….." I prompt. "Condom!"

The idiot clues in and begins to dive around his dresser drawers looking for the lubricant. I sit up and watch him closely.

"Turn around. I want to see you put it on."

He obeys, struggling a little, but I don't dare help him. I'm giving him enough!

I look up just in time to see him almost on me. My gasp catches in my throat, but I wordlessly let him press me back down into the mattress. Next moment, he is sheathing himself inside me, condom and all.

One thing is for certain. He's no Peeta. He's not even Gale. There is not the slightest pretense of gentleness. Hovering over me, Cray grinds desperately in and out of me, as though he has never bedded a woman in his life. I can feel his beady eyes watching me, as if expecting me to show some enjoyment. He tires easily, grunting and gasping with every plunge. At last, his thrusts become shorter, his breathing shallower. With an almighty moan, his sweaty body flops on top of me and he empties himself inside of me, his head drooping into the crook of my neck.

It is just as agonizing feeling him pull out of me as it felt when he pushed in. But then I am elated when I feel the jingle of coins land beside me as he tosses a bag onto the cot without another word.

Not once did I look him in the eye, preferring instead to stare blankly at the ceiling as he screwed me. It's the worst fornication I've ever engaged in with a man.

I sit up, my body on fire. The room is silent. Where is Cray?

Then I see him: passed out on the floor in a pool of vomit, his dick still hanging out.

I turn my attention to the bag of coins and eagerly begin to count them.

45\. That cheapskate gave me five short of what I need! Probably on purpose too!

I check on the bastard. He's still dead to the world, even snoring. I guess I'll just have to find the rest of the coins myself. He didn't hold up his end of the bargain; I don't have to keep my promise of staying with him the whole night. I bet he couldn't even last through another round, anyway.

Silently, I dress and then scour the house. In Cray's bedside table, I find two more coins. A third is atop his dresser.

Four short. I'm still four short!

I return to the spare room. Cray is still knocked out.

And there, on the belt loop of his still-dropped pants, I see it: a small coin purse!

This is going to be tricky. But I use my hunter's feet to silently approach. I reach out a hand tentatively. Cray's body suddenly rises and falls as he inhales a sharp breath. I spring back, startled.

When he quiets, I reach his pants and kneel beside the coin purse. It's attached to a small strand of leather. Procuring my knife, I quickly slice the purse loose and seize it, retreating into a corner. I open it and quietly count. One, two, three…. four!

Triumphant, I slip out of the house, vowing never to return.

* * *

I get up early the next morning, and force Greasy Sae out of bed so we can get to the District Square first.

"I got the rest of the money!" I tell her.

The old lady brightens. "Great! How?"

I can barely hold her gaze. She reads me like a book and her face falls in sadness. "Oh, girl child…." she sighs forlornly. I wave her off.

"It doesn't matter. The important thing is we have what we need. Now let's address it to Peeta and turn it into the Peacekeepers!"

We do, and by the time Cray and the rest of the district have arrived, 100 coins for a mail shirt and helmet for Peeta Mellark have been teleported to the Capitol.

So, why do I still feel such shame, feel that - despite the fact that Peeta and I are not husband and wife - I have been unfaithful?

* * *

 **A/N: OK, now we are returning to Peeta's side of the story! To those of you who wondered if Cray would return…. you were half right. REVIEW!**


	29. Chapter 29: Bond vs Peeta

**Chapter 29: Bond vs. Peeta**

 **Peeta's POV**

I feel as though I have been turned into an ice statue. Have I really only been here five days?

Some food would be nice, but yesterday's blizzard drove away any animals I might be able to hunt. And the snow is still too deep for me to find any firewood.

My teeth chatter. I am out of options. So I deal in the last card I have: I pray.

 _God, if you're out there, please send help._

In the wash of white, the sudden presence of new color - even a drab one like gun-metal gray - seems out of place. I stare at the thing floating down from the heavens towards me, until it lands feet from where I now sit.

A gift from a sponsor!

I snatch it up and tear open the parachute. What I find is the last thing I expected. What's a bundle of…. chain link going to help me with? And is that a helmet?

At the bottom of the canister is a note: _Put the long mail…. thingy under your parka. It's a suit! If you can't tell where the helmet goes, well…. Watch out for Bond's maces! ~ H_

I'll be damned, the old man came through! Of course! These items are protection against Bond!

I just hope they work.

* * *

I see him in the distance, a speck on the horizon of snow. I take one last deep breath. In a matter of time, I will know my fate. No matter how I come out, I am leaving the arena today.

Bond and I approach each other, meeting halfway. He smirks.

"Let's get this over with, Mellark."

I smile. "After you."

He whips out his maces and swings. I block one with my broadsword, before quickly slicing down and then dancing away from the other.

The weapon has been split in half, with only one ball still attached. Bond growls and lunges for me again. I parry, glad that I only have one ball to deal with.

Back and forth we go along the snow in this way. Bond seems to be tiring, and his smile now seems forced.

"I'll give my regards when I see Katniss!" he taunts. "Maybe even give a kiss to Hawthorne's brat!" He swings, and I am ready for him.

"I'LL GIVE THEM MYSELF!" I roar, swinging my sword _away_ at the last second.

It's a perfect fake out. Bond has a clear shot at me, but instead of the spiked ball sinking into my chest, it bounces back as though it has hit metal.

Right into Bond's eyes.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!" I stare, horrified. Bond has gouged out his eyes, blinded himself, with his own mace. The bloodied, mangled weapon drops into the snow.

I display no mercy. Lunging, I whip around my sword and slice off Bond's head with one, clean stroke. The skull falls one way, the body the other.

BOOM.

Trumpets blast, and I hear Claudius Templesmith's voice over the roar of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 75th Annual Hunger Games, the 3rd Quarter Quell: Peeta Mellark! I give you…. the first male tribute from District 12!"


	30. Chapter 30: Facing the Snake

**Chapter 30: Facing the Snake**

The next several days are a whirlwind. I am pulled from the arena, kept in the hospital while any injuries I sustained are wiped away. Once I am deemed presentable to the Capitol audiences, I have my final interview with Caesar Flickerman.

Like before, the first part of the interview is not bad at all, and I enjoy my playful banter with the TV host. But then, I am made to watch a recap of the Quell. It's all there: my escaping the Bloodbath. Killing the Careers and failing to save Jesse. Martin's death at the hands of the avalanche. And my final, gory duel with Bond.

By the time I am formally awarded the Victor's Crown by President Snow, I just want to go home. My impatience really began before the interview, when I learned that there would be no televised reunion with Katniss and Riley as I had assumed. "Oh, there will be one," Haymitch assured me when I pressed him on the subject. "But back in Twelve, not here." I guess you can't predict what the Capitol will do, even if you have watched their coverage your entire life.

And apparently, the Capitol's unpredictability isn't just confined to media imaging. During our limo ride to what I assume is (finally!) the train station, our driver makes a sudden turn. I look to Haymitch.

"Where are we going?"

"Relax, kid. Just one more detour and then we can go home. You have to meet the President." My mentor's expression is unusually blank, his voice even.

"But I just saw him at my Crowning! You're telling me this now?" I am close to throwing a tantrum like a little kid, I know, but I am sick of all these functions! Why can't I just go home to my family and be left alone?

The limo halts in front of the Presidential Mansion and I get out.

"The driver's gonna drop me off at the station and come back for you," Haymitch says.

 _Maybe this will be short, then,_ I think hopefully, as armored Peacekeepers lead me past the gates and into the mansion itself. I follow my escorts through ornate hallway after ornate hallway, until we stop at majestic double doors. The Presidential Office.

"The President is waiting for you, Mr. Mellark. You may go in," a guard prompts. I obey. I can't explain it, but something doesn't feel quite right about this. But it's too late to turn back now. I turn the knob and enter.

The office is as glorious as it has been conveyed on TV. At the far end of the room is a desk of beautifully polished wood. The gentleman behind it has his back to me, but raises a finger as if to say, _Give me a moment_. Then the chair swivels around.

It's a hard thing to admit, but President Coriolanus Snow has seemed to age like a bottle of fine wine - slowly and carefully, while still maintaing a telegenic image. He smiles, his eyes squinting, and I am momentarily reminded of a snake.

Wine and snakes. Between these two extremes, the President of Panem rests somewhere in the middle.

"Peeta Mellark. I have been expecting you. Please, have a seat."

A chair rests on my side of the desk and I take it. I try to relax, the sense of foreboding stubbornly refusing to go away.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. President?" I ask politely.

"But of course. It is tradition for the newest Victor to meet with me before returning home."

I blink. "Haymitch never told me that."

The President chuckles. "Yes, well, Mr. Abernathy has never had the experience of sending a protégé to me. I remember meeting with him when he was crowned Victor. Oh, he was a wily one! Still is, so I'm told."

I smile. "He certainly is that!"

I begin to relax, as I feel I am beginning to understand what this session is for, and it seems reasonable enough. "I know, Mr. President, that I will have Mentoring duties from now on, and I'm sure you want to discuss how Haymitch and I will split the time…."

"Oh, there will be that," the President agrees. "But that is a matter between you and Mr. Abernathy. I have something else I want to discuss with you…." He circles the desk. "You see, Peeta, every new Victor is a precious commodity. As mentors they are indeed, valuable assets, there's no doubt about that. But that is not their sole…. shall we say, purpose." He stops before me. "As a tribute, your job is to pleasure those in the Capitol, but what about after? In order for sponsors to be negotiated, gifts to be sent, Victors have to….. pleasure our citizens as well. But not with killing; rather with…."

His voice trails off, and for a moment, I don't understand what he means. Is this a test, a classroom exercise where you have to fill in the blank?

Then I get it, what it means. The clue is in the word he used earlier: pleasure.

"Sex," I finish. "You want me to have…. No way!"

"This is not a request, Mr. Mellark!" and the President's voice has become significantly sharper.

"Mr. President, I can't! I have a girlfriend, whom I will likely marry, and a child! You can't just ask me to betray them like this!"

"Oh, but I can, Peeta. I'm the President. And besides…." He leans forward until his face is inches from mine. "If family constraints are a problem for you, I can certainly help you…. relax them."

It is remarkable how quickly I am learning Snow's language, this new one filled with veiled threats and codewords. And it just angers me even more. I don't know what makes me so bold as to point a finger in the President's face, but I do.

"You touch either of them, I swear to God…."

"Then we have an understanding: you give your time and body to my constituents, and Katniss and Riley are free to live happily ever after with you."

Now I know what he is really asking. He wants me to become two Peeta Mellarks. One comes to stay in the Capitol as a playboy, the other remains in District 12 as a devoted husband and father. It sickens me, that I have to take this course at all, but…. Two Peeta Mellarks…. separate and yet not entirely equal. They can be as equal as I want them to be…..

I inwardly smirk. Two can play at the President's game, and with some cunning, I might even be able to beat him at it. All while making sure that only my Capitol alter ego gets hurt.

"A _transparent_ understanding, Mr. President," I reply.

"Good." Snow holds out his hand, and I rise to shake it. "You are free to go. Your driver is waiting for you."

It is only when the Presidential Mansion is out of sight that I allow myself to come apart in the backseat of the limo.


	31. Chapter 31: Lovers Reunite

**Chapter 31: Lovers Reunite**

 **Katniss's POV**

District 12 now possesses the energy of a madhouse. Today is the day that - after 25 years of waiting - a tribute of ours will be coming home alive. As the train's arrival draws nearer and nearer, people are beginning to flood the streets, scale the rooftops, to catch a glimpse of our newest Victor.

I am not at the train station, unfortunately. Ever since Peeta's win, a contingent of media have been based here, prepping me and baby Riley for a TV reunion for the ages. The plan is this: Peeta will be paraded from the station, through Twelve, with my house as the very last stop. Then, I am to rush into his arms -the poor Seam girl welcoming her Merchant demigod prince - and present our baby to him. My Capitol prep team gushes that it will be the most romantic moment in all of Panem's history.

Dressed and ready, I stand vigil by my - _our_ \- bedroom window. Suddenly, the roar from the crowds below reaches a fever pitch, and my heart begins to hammer in my chest. The train has arrived.

The loudest portions of the throng drift closer and closer, following Peeta in what I have been told will be an open-canopy car: first at the station, then the District Square, then the Merchant area and finally, the Seam. At last, the jubilant shouts draw near and I scan the mob below. Bobbing above the other heads like a buoy on the sea, I spy a crop of golden hair.

I turn back to my sister excitedly. "There he is, Primrose! Peeta! Peeta!" I happily call his name as I throw red flower petals from the window, following the example of other women in their homes.

"PEETA! PEETA!" The crowd amplifies my chant. At last, the car is pulled up beside my door. I happily gather Riley up in my arms.

"Come on, let's go see Daddy!" I run down the stairs and throw open the door.

And there he is. My God, the Capitol has made him beautiful again! When he sees me, his eyes widen and he steps out of the car, holding my gaze. His smile holds the power of a million watts.

"Katniss, it's me! I'm back!" He takes my hand.

I playfully frown, looking skeptical. I run my fingers through his blond curls, pretend to examine his well-toned body. Then, I gaze into his eyes - eyes as blue as a summer sky…..

I beam, unable to stand it any longer. "It _is_ you! You're home!" I fling myself into his arms and he kisses me passionately. Oh, how I've missed this! The crowd erupts into cheers.

As instructed, I present Riley to her father when we break apart. He happily takes her from me, talking to her, laughing at her smile. Then it's one last photo-op for the cameras before our happy little family is swept into the house to at last be left alone.

Our well-earned privacy allows me to express all the emotions I could not while on TV. I hold Peeta to me tightly and begin to sob.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" I weep. "But you came back; you won! You won….."

Peeta gives me a tired smile. "I told you I would."

I stare up into his face, blinking back tears. "Peeta, kiss me," I beg.

Something shifts in him, barely noticeable. There is a guardedness about him now, a hesitancy. Is it fear? Did the arena do this to him? I don't know, but I don't want to focus on it right now.

"Just do it!" I cry, as if I might die without his lips on mine. And he kisses me, permitting me to swoon in his arms and forget the world.

* * *

 **A/N: OK, and that is the last time we change perspectives for only one chapter! Thanks for being such troopers! Review, review, review!**


	32. Chapter 32: New Sex God

**Chapter 32: New Sex God**

 **Peeta's POV**

My suitcases are at the foot of the stairs in our new home in Victor's Village. How could six months have flown by so fast?

Riley is already ten months old and crawling around as Katniss double checks that I have everything I need for my Victory Tour, including winter gear. I made her pack those items because seeing something as seemingly innocuous as a parka could trigger flashbacks to the arena.

"I think that's everything," my girlfriend tells me. I open my arms and she does not hesitate to walk into them.

"Take us with you," she pleads. "Riley and I don't need much, and we'll only be around if you need us."

She has no idea how much I need them, how much I want to say yes and let them come along. But I know that, where I'm going, it is no place for a young woman or a baby. The Capitol will want to meet Katniss and Riley eventually, but for now, I hope to keep both of them away from Snow as long as possible. Yes, the President promised neither of my girls would be disturbed if I only did what he asked. But I don't trust the President as far as I could throw him, and that ain't very far.

I step out of the embrace and pull Katniss's face in. I kiss her goodbye, long and sensual. She moans, but allows me to pull away. I then stride into the living room where Riley is playing with a toy ball. I kiss her forehead.

"Be good for Mommy, now."

She gurgles in response.

* * *

Throughout the Tour, I go through the motions. My natural talent with words enhances my acting ability, so I am at least able to pretend that I am grateful for the Capitol's chance to live. Thanking the other tributes for their sacrifice is the only sincere thing I can manage. Haymitch thinks I'm a natural; not many other new victors could say the same about their performance.

At last, we only have one more stop, but it will be the hardest one on the agenda for me to get through. Why couldn't the Capitol have been the very first thing? From what Effie has told me, the plan is to go to an entire party thrown in my honor, held at the President's mansion. There, I will be subjected to everything at once: chatting up elite Capitol donors, dancing, reporters and paparazzi.

As our train nears the Capitol, I turn to Haymitch. "Can I ask you something?"

He shrugs his assent.

"How did you and Duke Vedaldi handle this when you were crowned Victor?"

Haymitch's brow furrows in thought. "To be honest with you, kid, Victory Tours were different, even in those days. The Capitol was not quite yet on the cusp of extreme wealth; the last of the debts incurred from the Dark Days were still being paid. And… you know, any money they had, they spent most of it on the Games themselves. So, celebrations of Victors were still very…. frugal, even by the Capitol's standards. My Victory Party was not _nearly_ as lavish as the one you'll be getting. And for me in particular, there were other reasons for incurring less expense….."

I want to ask him what he means by that last point, but the train begins to slow as we pull into the Capitol station.

The limo that picks us up allows us to avoid the media, at least temporarily, for the short ride to the Presidential Mansion. Once we get out at the party, we are swamped. Everyone who is anyone wants to shake my hand, or even just touch the great Peeta Mellark. Seeing that Effie has a natural affinity for such attention and merriment, I stick close to her side.

"Not to worry, dear. I am sure you've experienced nothing like this in District 12. Stick with me, and everything will be fine."

Despite her rather snobbish way of noting my discomfort, I have to smile, for I know Effie means well.

I begin to grow more comfortable as the night wears on. Effie will sometimes literally drag me from table to table, introducing me to this diplomat or that.

"And this, Peeta, is Plutarch Heavensbee. He was the Head Gamemaker last year and will be reprising his post this summer."

The man with balding blond hair before me nods and gives a genuine smile. "It's a pleasure," and he shakes my hand.

But I don't get to say much beyond 'How do you do?', before a Capitol dignitary insists that I dance with her. Beyond the fact that I don't dance much, except playfully with Katniss, the woman is rather clingy, and I am grateful to finally get away after the third song in a row.

Just then, Effie meets me on the edge of the dance floor. "Peeta, dear, a patron has requested to meet you. We must go to the Tribute Training Center right away." My escort lacks her usual verve and there is no bounce in her voice.

Uh oh. A 'patron'… this could be it….

The whole ride over to the Training Center, I feel as though I want to throw up. I do that when I get nervous. When we arrive at the building, Effie leads me into the elevator and we shoot up to the Penthouse Suite. Whoever this patron is, he or she must really have the cash.

Once there, we approach an ornate door. A woman with auburn hair is waiting outside. I recognize her instantly.

Johanna Mason from District 7. She won a few years before I did (71st Games, I think?) by pretending to be a weakling until the competition had dwindled. She shoots me a cocky grin.

"Well, if it isn't the Lover Boy. Good, at least I won't be going into this alone."

"This patron requested you, too?" I inquire.

Johanna scoffs and rolls her eyes. "With Sanders Bradshaw, one Victor is never enough. She always wants threesomes!"

"I'll leave you both to it, then," Effie says quietly and scampers onto the elevator before I can even say goodbye.

Amazingly, I am starting to feel a little bit better. At least I will have a friend in there with me. And Johanna must be more experienced. Perhaps she can do most of the work on this Sanders woman and I can learn the ropes. I look to my fellow Victor. "You'll help me in there?"

"Of course, brainless. We Victors always make sure the newest member of the family has help!"

Just then, the door opens, and a woman with Barbie doll blonde hair appears. She smiles. "I thought I heard voices! Come on in!"

Sanders leads us into the Penthouse. It is beautiful, complete with a four-poster bed and a couch. The woman immediately takes off her robe and lets it fall to the floor. She is now stark naked.

I glance to Johanna, the nerves returning. Seriously? No talking first? But instead of going for the bed, Sanders sits on the couch next to us. Johanna raises an eyebrow at her.

"Not sure we can all fit on there."

"Oh no, no threesome tonight. I'll just be watching. The two of you."

My mouth falls open. My world is spinning out of control. This woman is expecting me to have exclusive sex with a Victor I just met? There is nowhere to hide now. Oh God!

Sanders frowns. "Well, don't just stand there. Kiss! Delight me."

I face Johanna and make damn sure she sees the panic in my eyes. At least, Sanders can't, with my back to her. Johanna gives me a look of sympathy before taking me in her arms. She begins to plant kisses along my shoulder and into my neck, working her way up to my ear.

"Listen carefully," she hisses between each peck, barely audible. "I'm going to walk you through it, but you'll have to meet me halfway. Show off your acting chops."

"How?" I breathe as Johanna gives me a love bite on my jawline.

"Kiss me like you would kiss _her_." Johanna pauses in her attentions and gives me a hard look.

I get it. I just have to imagine that I'm kissing Katniss. But what happens after…..?

I don't have time to ponder this before Johanna leans in and presses her lips to mine.

I can't believe I have to do this! This is wrong, so wrong!

"Peeta?" I hear Sanders call behind me. "What's taking so long, dear? Kiss her back!"

Johanna's lips flow more insistently against my petrified ones. I take a sharp breath.

 _Katniss, forgive me._

My hands enclose themselves around Johanna's head. Twitching my lips into hers, I kiss her back. I move quickly and force her mouth open with my own and plunge my tongue inside.

"Mmmmm…." Johanna sighs. She must like it. Indeed, she loops her arms around my neck and closes her eyes. I do, too, and try to follow my fellow Victor's advice. Just pretend it's Katniss….

My hands roam lower, splaying across Johanna's back until I reach her waist. I pull her flush against me and then decide on a move that I used on Katniss once and that she really liked. I heavily caress Johanna's bum before cupping each cheek in a hand and giving it a squeeze. Johanna gasps sharply against my lips.

"Hmmm….. you naughty, naughty boy," she purrs.

I assertively scoop her leg up so that it is level to my waist. Johanna's lips fly from mine and she begins to work up my jaw.

"Unzip me, will you?" she pants. I barely nod and with my free hand, I find the zipper, pulling it down. When it's loose enough, Johanna shimmies it down to her ankles.

"Lift me," she prompts and I pick her up off her feet, leaving the dress on the floor.

Just then, Johanna becomes more assertive. Pushing against my chest, she forces me back until I stumble onto the four-poster bed, taking her with me. Now she moves fast. Twisting me around so that I am all the way on the mattress, she pins me flat on my back and daintily moves to straddle my hips.

I suddenly begin to panic again. Pretending to kiss Katniss was fine, but there is no way I can trick my mind into thinking I am having sex with my girlfriend. Johanna's hands press against my chest and she moves in to kiss me.

"Relax," she croons against my lips. "Breathe. I'm here."

She takes over, unbuttoning my shirt and shrugging it off during fast, breathy kisses. I feel her fingers proceed to my belt and she works it free before unzipping my pants. Pausing in the kissing, she yanks the garment down to my ankles before throwing herself on top of me again.

Her vagina is close, dangerously close. I can feel it bumping against the inside of my thigh. Johanna buries her mouth into the crook of my neck, unseen by Sanders.

"All right," she gasps. "I'm going to guide you into me now. Do you trust me?"

Do I have a choice? Johanna bites into my neck insistently and I croak out a "Yes…..", which could be interpreted as anything to that wretched Sanders woman.

Johanna looks into my face. "Kiss me. It'll help through the pain." Then she slams her lips down onto mine. Next second, I feel her hand on my dick, sliding me into her center.

"Ooommmmm…" she groans into my mouth, and I see tears come to her eyes. I pretend to caress her face with my palm so I can wipe away her tears. She smiles against my lips appreciatively, before briefly drawing away.

She bites the air with her mouth, like a cat, conveying to our audience that I am some sexy little thing before kissing me again.

Johanna begins to roll her hips into mine. I feel my cock expanding inside of her, the juices within ballooning it. I grip Johanna's hips and begin to thrust up into her, suddenly wanting this over as soon as possible.

"Hmm! Hmmmmm!" Johanna squeals into my lips, surprised at my forcefulness.

I am almost to my edge. I can't take it anymore! Weaving my fingers into Johanna's hair, I hold her skull in place and pull her closer still. I squeeze my eyes shut. God, just let it be over….

I let out an inhuman grunt in perfect harmony with Johanna's muffled cry, as we both cum at the same time, milking each other with our juices. Johanna drops on top of me and we finally break the kiss, holding each other, gasping for air.

"Good boy," she coos softly. "I'm so proud of you….."

I have no breath left with which to praise her. Before I can compose myself, I suddenly hear moans.

Johanna and I turn our heads and both stare, appalled. Sanders' one hand is sunken into her cunt, stroking her clit madly as she sprawls on the couch, her head thrown back. "Ohhhh, ohhhh, goodness…." At last she cries out, and cums, finishing her shameful masturbation to us.

There is a pause of maybe a minute as our patron just lays there in a heap, recovering. At last she stands, as if nothing had happened. Still buck naked, she addresses us.

"Wonderful performance. You both may go now." And she promptly leaves the room.

Johanna immediately rises off of me and rolls onto the floor. I shakily push myself up onto my feet. We both go for our clothes.

I cannot bear to look at her. I broke my silent promise to Katniss that she would be the only woman I showed love to in this way. As I finish buttoning my shirt, I jump when Johanna takes my hand.

"Come with me. Drinks back at my place. My treat."

I don't do or say anything to accept or refuse her proposal; I'm too numb. Johanna steers me out of the Penthouse and onto the elevator, punching the button for Floor Seven. The thing has barely opened its doors before she is guiding me down the hall to a room and pulls me in.

"Sit on the bed," she instructs and then leaves me to go to the sink. She begins to prepare a few margaritas.

I shakily have a seat. Johanna returns a moment later with two drinks. I accept her offered one with a quiet, "Thanks," and she takes a place beside me. While I wordlessly sip through my straw, she rests a hand on my shoulder.

"I know it seems like you are not being faithful, but trust me: you don't want her or that little baby to be any part of this."

I pause in my drinking. "Oh, I don't intend to. Soon as I get back to Twelve, I can be normal Peeta again."

Johanna stares at me, shaking her head while giving the most gentle expression I have ever seen from her. "Oh, honey….. don't you understand? Who you are, what you do here, in the Capitol: it's not some snake skin you can shed every time you go home. It sticks with you. All of it. The arena…. the forced sex….. victors who are married and have families always have the hardest time."

"So…. how do you get through it? Who did Snow threaten for you to fall in line?"

Johanna laughs bitterly. "Everyone I cared about. I still refused, hoping I called his bluff. Except it wasn't a bluff. There's no one left I love." She stirs her margarita. "Looking back now, I suppose I should be grateful. Folks like Haymitch and me, we're some of the lucky ones. Snow can't hurt me, but that doesn't mean I get out of all the shit, that I still don't have to fuck anyone he orders me to….."

All at once, she bursts into tears.

I stare in disbelief, even though it's rude. Is this really the same sarcastic, flippant Johanna I've seen on TV or on re-runs of her Games? Or just a suppressed one that she feels she can reveal to someone she trusts? Someone like me, who has now been in her shoes?

I sigh and put an arm around her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder. I search for something to say, try to find the words that have never failed me in the past.

"Don't give up hope, Johanna. It might seem like we're damned, but we're not. One of these days, you're going to find someone who treats you the way you want to be treated."

She sniffles and raises her eyes slightly to me. "You think so?"

I look down to her, expression lovingly firm. "I _know_ so."

Just as I turn away, Johanna's hand is at my cheek. Turning me back, she raises her head until her lips touch mine. I indulge the kiss for a moment before pulling away, surprised.

"I'm sorry," she sighs. "I know I shouldn't have done that….. You're a really nice guy, Peeta. You tell that Katniss Everdeen she's _damn_ lucky to have someone like you."

I smile in understanding. "Of course." We both stand and I hold out my hand. "Friends?"

And for the first time, Johanna gives me a rare, genuine smile. "Friends." And she shakes.

I hug her goodbye. "See you at the Games this summer?"

"Yeah," she sighs. "Take care of yourself."

"You too."


	33. Chapter 33: 76th Reaping

**Chapter 33: 76th Reaping**

December melts into June in the blink of an eye. In the interim, Katniss and I celebrate Riley's first birthday on March 17th. I bake a beautiful cake, and we give her tons of presents. Haymitch even bequeaths her with a toy rocking horse he apparently whittled himself.

When June rears its ugly head, so does the Reaping - my first as a Victor. In the weeks leading up to it, Haymitch and I discuss our mentoring duties, and quietly agree that we will both attend for the next few years until I have sufficiently learned the process. Only then will we trade off.

The day of the Reaping dawns humid and sticky, and I can't tell if my profuse sweating is naturally from the heat or just plain nerves. This will be Katniss's last Reaping ever - if she can just get through the day without being picked, we will be free to live as a family together forever.

Of course, the odds have a weird way of choosing who is not in its favor.

"Katniss Everdeen!" Effie calls and I nearly choke. In the crowd, I can actually see 14 year old Prim begin to open her mouth to volunteer but Katniss shoots her a look that warns her to keep quiet. Wordlessly, my lover takes the stage with Riley squirming in her arms, and wailing. The sight flusters Mayor Undersee.

"Should she have the baby with her?"

Katniss looks like she wants to attack the portly fellow, so I step in. "As her mentor, she has my permission, sir." I don't really know if I actually have the authority to dictate who can be in our entourage and who cannot, but none of the Peacekeepers make a big stink.

Effie draws from the boys bowl. "Benny Roberts!" A boy of twelve takes the stage and I want to cry. He reminds me painfully of Jesse, Martin's district partner whom I failed to save last year.

The ceremony wraps up unusually quickly. Peacekeepers practically sprint us all onto the train and it is pulling out of the station within two or three minutes. The hurriedness unnerves me.

But not as much as the fact that my family might be torn apart all over again.

* * *

Like last year with Haymitch and Bond, dinner is a painfully silent gathering. Everyone seems to be on edge: Haymitch is already on his second bottle of liquor, Effie for once is stone-cold quiet and Benny can barely eat his food without his hands shaking.

And Riley? My child has not stopped crying since Katniss's name was drawn, which by now is leaving her mother quite frazzled. She shoots a look of pure venom at me.

"Peeta…. can you please not just sit there staring into space and help me calm OUR CHILD?"

I get up, trying not to let a sigh escape my lips and circle the table, taking the wailing infant from her. Nothing changes.

After trying and failing to rock her to sleep, I thrust Riley back into Katniss's arms. "This isn't working. Take her to your room and put her to bed. We need your undivided attention while we mentor you."

"Fine," Katniss snaps shortly, before turning on her heel and marching out of the dining car.

Jeez. I haven't seen her this angry since her mood swings while she was pregnant.

At last, she returns, but no longer seems angry, just….. tired.

"She's asleep."

"Good," Haymitch huffs, shifting in his chair. "Let's get down to business. Now, the way I usually do things is to let you guys ask questions of me first. Either of you have anything?"

Benny's eyes shift nervously to Haymitch before returning to his plate. He remains quiet. I get the feeling that the poor kid has given up hope. It reminds me of something Haymitch said to me on my first ride to the Capitol: victors _choose_ between their tributes. And even if Katniss was not the woman whom I slept with every night, I would certainly throw my lot in with her to win. So that's what I do. Comparing Benny to Katniss, and his resignation, only make my job easier.

"How do we win?" Katniss asks with determination.

Haymitch smirks. "I think you can answer that question better than I can, sweetheart. How do you think?"

"Sponsors," she answers.

"Bingo. That's the most important thing, but it's not the only thing. You will need to judge whether or not you can handle the Bloodbath. My advice: grab what's nearest you and then take off."

I pitch in. "Also really important: if you want allies, get them. You will have to start right away laying that groundwork in training. Martin and I became close last year and then agreed to team up."

I can tell by the look on Katniss's face that she rejects this idea. But then again, she never was very good at making friends, which only makes me marvel how she even fell in love with me in the first place. I trust her judgement, though. With her hunting skills, she might have what it takes to strike out on her own in the arena.

"But most important of all…" and I look to Haymitch before we say simultaneously, "You have to make people like you!"


	34. Chapter 34: Training and Interviews Agai

**Chapter 34: Training and Interviews Again**

This time, when our train arrives in the Capitol, I am ready. As the paparazzi swarm, I shield Katniss from them and make sure Riley turns her face into my shirt so the flashes don't bother her.

While Benny and Katniss are being prepped by their stylists, Haymitch and I do our best to relax by playing with Riley. We engage in Peek-a-Boo, and even perform several iterations of Ring-Around-the-Rosy. Riley's too little to recite the rhyme (she won't start talking for another year, at least), but watching a drunk Haymitch enthusiastically help us "all fall down" brings laughter out of her that is music to my ears.

All too soon, Effie summons us down to the stables by the City Circle where we reunite with our tributes. I give Katniss a kiss in greeting, and her eager return of it lets me know all is forgiven from the train ride earlier. I help her into the chariot next to Benny, before Haymitch leads me away to the stands reserved for mentors.

I have come to believe that going last in the parade gives District 12 tributes an advantage, provided our stylists are good at what they do. Judging by the cheers I hear, it is clear they have replicated their performance with me and Bond last year. Watching the screens as I bounce Riley in my lap, I see Caesar and other pundits focusing a lot of attention on Katniss and her flaming outfit. Besides the fact that the Capitol is itching to meet her and better understand her relationship to me, their newest Victor, Katniss's outfit quickly earns her the nickname The Girl on Fire. I tune out President Snow's speech (most of what I do catch is boring, anyway), and then the tributes are released back to their crews.

Katniss brightens as soon as Riley and I come up. "Hello, little lady!" she squeals in baby-talk, cuddling her daughter close to her. "Did you like seeing the horses?"

"Peeta!" I turn to see Haymitch standing with some other Victors. He beckons us. "Bring the family over!"

I can tell Katniss just wants to have alone time with me and our daughter, but we have a part to play. As soon as we sidle up, the Victors begin peppering us with questions about Riley. Honestly, they're no better than the media!

"How old is she, Peeta?" asks Finnick Odair.

"Have you adopted her yet, Peeta?" Chaff inquires.

"Oh, can I just _hold_ her, Peeta?" Cashmere Ritchson-Schlund and Johanna both ask. I smile good naturedly, take Riley from Katniss, and then hand our baby off to Johanna, who seems absolutely delighted to play with her.

"Why, hello! Aren't you a pretty little thing? Just like your Mama!" She turns to me. "Riley really is adorable, Peeta. You must be very proud."

I smile, and I mean it. "Thank you." We both hug warmly; I hear Katniss give a kind of huff in response and bite back a laugh. Is she actually jealous?

"And this is Finnick Odair," Haymitch is introducing to Katniss. District 4's resident playboy sidles up to my girlfriend. I got to know him at my Victory Party in the Capitol. Very suave, talkative enough, but a tad egotistical.

"Peeta has told me so much about you. But even his descriptions don't do you justice, Katniss," he purrs, before taking her hand and kissing it. I inwardly glower. OK, now it's _my_ turn to be jealous, and I only get more so when I think I see Katniss blushing.

"All right! Come, come! We must all get our rest for training tomorrow!" Effie chirps, calling us away. I gratefully take Riley from Cashmere, who's been fawning all over her, and our District 12 entourage enters the Tribute Training Center.

Now the _real_ work begins.

* * *

Training goes by relatively quickly. I advise Katniss to avoid the archery station, even the edible plants station for good measure, and learn something new. I refrain from reminding her about making allies, as she seems to have made pretty clear her feelings on _that_ , and I don't want to get into an argument. Before I know it, she has returned from her private session with the Gamemakers, tired but confident.

I understand why when the Training Scores are broadcast later that third night, after I've put Riley to bed. Katniss scores an unprecedented 11 out of 12, beating even the best of the Careers. Effie is beside herself, and Haymitch deals out wine to us all in celebration.

Yet, I feel a twinge of worry. Make no mistake, I am proud of what Katniss accomplished, but I also know the Careers and how they operate. Their first move is gonna be to hunt her down. Because to them, my girlfriend is now a threat.

* * *

The next night is the tribute interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Katniss will be second-to-last, as I was last year.

I have a new appreciation for the tributes from my new vantage point in the front row with the other Victors. Whereas to a tribute, Caesar seemed like an overly-extroverted giant, down here he and the tributes appear relatively equal.

Also distinct is how…. forgettable the tributes seem to be, especially when one after the other is called again and again. For my interview, I at least remembered a few of the others, like Martin and Jesse and Bond. This year, the Careers seem to all run together, while the rest are so mediocre in their answers and in their training scores that they're just forgettable.

That all changes when my lover takes the stage, and even Caesar seems to find new verve, sensing the shift along with the audience.

"And here she is, our most anticipated tribute of the night: Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire!" The audience erupts at his announcement.

"My, my, Katniss, Wowwwweeeeee! I heard from Peeta you were beautiful, but I had no idea how right he was!"

 _Why does everyone keep focusing on that?_ I grouse, remembering Finnick's flirtations from a few days before. It also doesn't help that I see some of the older male Victors, like Brutus and Chaff, sit a little straighter, their eyes glued to my girl. Riley squirms in my lap, as if to remind me to calm down, but mostly because I've stopped jouncing her along in my arms.

Meanwhile, Katniss does a very un-Katnissy thing: she actually giggles. "Oh, stop it, you big flirt!"

Caesar eats it up, and so does the crowd. I glance over at Haymitch. Was part of his interview strategy to turn her into a girly-girl, make her more…. desirable or something? It only makes me resent how he forced me to coach Benny, because - to use my mentor's words - "I'm not confident that leaving you two lovebirds alone in a room will lead to anything productive." Asshole.

"Now, Katniss tell me: you have quite a history with the Games already. Your baby's father was a very promising tribute two years ago. And you are currently dating a Victor. Has that put pressure on you?"

"No," Katniss answers, and it surprises me how readily she addresses such a sensitive issue. "After he won, Peeta and I always discussed that we would keep our home lives as private as possible."

Caesar nods. "And now, what of your daughter? Besides the fact that she is quite a hit with our mentors this year -" the audience chuckles "- what will you do when you have to say goodbye to her tomorrow?"

Katniss has grown very quiet; it looks like she is trying not to cry. "I'll tell her that I will try to win. That I will try to win for her." She then turns and blows a tender kiss to her baby. "Mommy's coming back, sweetheart! I promise!"

I bob Riley in my lap and help her wave to her mama, followed by an audience chorus of Awwws.

"And try you will," Caesar echoes solemnly. "Katniss Everdeen, ladies and gentlemen!"

* * *

Later that night, Katniss and Riley and I all sleep in bed together, just holding each other in the darkness. I kiss Katniss's temple.

"I love you, you know. More than my own life."

Katniss snuggles closer. "I know."

"I mean it. I would go into that damn arena again and again for you, just as long as you were there waiting when I came out."

Katniss laughs. "Who knew I'd fall for such a hopeless romantic?"

"Because deep down, you're one at heart, too."

"Oh, shut up!" and she nudges me. Then she kisses my cheek. "Wish me luck tomorrow?"

"You'll survive. You have to."

"And why exactly do I have to, may I ask?"

"Just because….."

"That's not a good enough answer, Peeta," and her voice is strangely quiet.

"Because I can't live without you. Because…." I can't find the words, although I know it has something to do with Riley. Katniss gives me a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Tell you what. We wake up early and discuss it in the morning. Riley's sure to be up before dawn, anyway."

I nod. Katniss starts to drift off.

"Katniss!"

"Hmmm?"

"If you win….. will you marry me?"

Silence. Katniss props herself on my chest and stares into my eyes. Finally, she nods.

"Yes. I will….. I promise."

I pull her in for a kiss.


	35. Chapter 35: Fiancé in Arena

**Chapter 35: Fiancé in Arena**

 **Katniss's POV**

As predicted, Riley wakes up before dawn. I rise, nurse her and then place her back at the foot of the bed before going to take a shower. By the time I return, Peeta is up. He showers and dresses in record time and then leads me and Riley out into the hallway.

"Now, remember: it's up to you whether you think you can handle the Cornucopia. If the bows and arrows are too far in - don't go for them. Run, find water. Then you can go from there."

I nod. "Got it."

"Katniss…. please win. For me."

"I told you, I've already promised! But, really, why worry? If I win, I can raise Riley, right alongside you. If I don't…. I trust you are more than capable, and you have more than enough money from your winnings to support the both of you."

"But what good is any of that if you're not around?" Peeta chides. "Please, Katniss. I can't lose you."

"I can't, either," I sigh, gazing into his eyes. "But we have to be prepared either way, don't we?"

Just then, Haymitch, Effie and Benny approach.

"I'm afraid it's time," our escort tells us.

I put on my bravest smile and look at my daughter lovingly. "Goodbye, Riley." I kiss the baby and hand the bundle to Peeta. Grabbing him, I pull him into one last, passionate kiss; I ignore Haymitch's snort. I nod to Benny and we march up to the roof of the Training Center, where Peacekeepers load us into the waiting hovercraft. Before I know it, the tracker is in my arm and we are on our way.

About 45 minutes later, I feel the plane land and the hatch opens. Benny, the other tributes and I are rushed into an underground tunnel and then split up into separate holding areas. In mine waits Cinna, my stylist, and he preps me in my arena jumpsuit. Then, on the breast pocket, I notice the mockingjay pin - a gift from Peeta for my birthday a month ago.

"Thank you," I whisper to Cinna. He must have recovered it from my Reaping dress.

"As a stylist, I'm not allowed to bet. But if I could I'd bet on you," he tells me.

"Ten seconds to launch!" an announcer's voice calls. I nod one last time to Cinna and step into the launch pod. Glass seals around me with a hiss and a click.

In only a moment, I feel myself beginning to rise. Up, up I go until at last, I emerge into light.

The first thing that registers is that the light is artificial, not natural. The second thing I register is a new, rattling reality.

I am in another cell.

A _prison_ cell.

My new environment is probably no more than 9 feet by 5 feet, and maybe 7 feet high. Peering through the bars, I can see I am on a kind of catwalk balcony, a second level. Directly across from me, I can see six other tributes in similar cells, with another six on the first level below them. I figure that five others are in the cells around me, and six more below us. The Cornucopia is in the center floor space of the entire cell block. I see that my weapons of choice, the bow and arrows, are right in the thick of the weapons piled close together at the mouth of the horn. _Guess I'm going to have to run away from the fight, like Peeta said_ , I think.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms over what may be the prison intercom system: "Let the 76th Hunger Games begin! May the odds be ever in your favor! 10….9…."

I ready myself to be a player, eyeing my cell door and guessing that it will open automatically when the countdown ends. Claudius reaches 0, the gong sounds, and…..

The cell doesn't open.

But the others do; I can hear them opening around me, see them release the tributes on the opposite catwalk. Some race each other to the stairs that lead to the first floor, others just leap over the railings. Tributes that were held on the lower level get there fastest of all.

I run to my bars and rattle them desperately, trying to keep the panic from boiling up inside of me. _Come on, come on…. open up, come on….._

I can see that the battle has already started by now. Tributes are hacking away at each other with whatever they can find.

I shrink back into my cell. It is obvious that my cell door has somehow malfunctioned. I'm trapped! I can't let any of my competition see me. If they do, I'll be a sitting duck.

I glance about my cell. Spying the cot to my right, I quickly duck under it and shrink back into the cell wall, attempting to blend in with the shadows. All I can do is listen to the screams of my fellow tributes for maybe the next hour.

At last, the sounds of battle fade away. I hear the cannons. BOOM. BOOM…..

When I finish counting, twelve have died. Twelve left to play.

I stay in my hiding place for the rest of the day. No one comes for me. I just watch the shadows grow longer and longer along the floor with each passing hour. Night must finally fall, for the Panem anthem begins to play. Indoors like this and with no windows in my cell, the faces of the dead tributes appear on the ceiling above the Cornucopia, not the sky.

Both from 3. The girl from 5. The boy from 6. The boy from 7. Both from 8. The boy from 9. The girl from 10. Both from 11. And little Benny. That's it.

I curl into myself to better keep warm and sigh. It's predictable that the Careers all survived. And I knew that my scared little district partner was doomed. The other survivors…. as far as Training Scores are concerned, it's actually a pretty mixed bag.

But before I can think about how to kill any of them, I know that my first order of business tomorrow is one thing:

Get the hell out of this cell.

* * *

 **A/N: And we will stop there for now. I bet a lot of you are wondering what prison Katniss is in. It will be alluded to in the next chapter, but see if you can guess. Don't worry, I will upload soon!**

 **One other thing: thanks to all who have reviewed so far, but please, give me more, MORE! Seriously, let me know what you think! I've seen fanfics with literally hundreds of reviews on them. Where's the love, people?**


	36. Chapter 36: Cell Block Tango

**Chapter 36: Cell Block Tango**

On what I judge to be the next day, I roll out from under my cot and peer through the bars of my cell. The area around the Cornucopia appears deserted. At least now, I am confident that I can work in peace.

Seeing the malfunctioned lock on my door gives me an idea. Unclipping my Mockingjay pin from my jumpsuit, I stick the point into the lock and try to pick it. It doesn't work.

With my thin frame, I attempt to simply slip through the bars. It doesn't work.

I try to lift the cot up and use that as a battering ram to break down the door…. until I realize the cot is bolted to the floor.

Growling in frustration, I lash out at the first thing I see - the air vent in the back of the cell - and give it a mighty kick.

My foot goes right through it.

Pausing, I kneel down and examine the thing. That's when I realize: it isn't an air vent at all. It's a _replica_ of one, made out of some kind of paper….

Pulling back the fake vent reveals a hole chipped into the concrete - a hole big enough for a person to crawl through. I decide to follow my instincts.

Crawling through the hole, I emerge into what looks like a narrow utility corridor, maybe three feet wide. I go along it until I reach a dead end. Well, this doesn't really help me at all!

Then, I notice the maze of pipes attached to the wall to my right. I take a deep breath, and begin to climb the plumbing.

Before I know it, I have emerged onto some kind of concrete platform. Chain and bars cover one entire wall. When I peer through and look far below me, I realize: I'm on the roof of the cell block itself.

Yet, I'm still inside the building. But is that what the Gamemakers intended? Even if a tribute's cell door did open, is the entire arena encased in the prison at large? Somehow, I doubt this theory, for if it were true, there would have likely been few other places for my competition to go. They would have circled back and likely found me still trapped in my cell by now.

My eyes suddenly fall on a large, cylindrical object lying on the floor of the cellblock roof. I examine it. It looks like a fan. Beside it are some metal bars from what may have been a grille. And if these objects fell, like I surmise they may have….

I follow my gaze upward. And there, through a hole, I see daylight. But it looks like I'd have to jump to reach it….

Seeing one bar still horizontally across the far end of this hole, I steel my resolve. I am not exactly a tall person, but maybe if I….. I bend my knees as far as they will go and then spring up, reaching with my hand. My fingers just brush the bar and I drop back down. I try again.

This time, I get a hand on the bar and like a gymnast, pull myself up until I can shimmy through the short concrete shaft into sunlight.

I am now on the roof of the whole cell house. Looking around me, I can see other buildings that look like ruins: a lighthouse, a water tower, another building's roof in the distance, and farther out, the remains of a dock. I can hear birds cawing, and waves crashing against the rocks….

Am I on some kind of shoreline? And why would you have a prison on a beach? Peering over the edge of the roof, I spy the door to the building I just emerged from. Over the entryway is a sign that looks partially torn and with faded lettering, but I can still make out the words:

ALCATRAZ ISLA

This prison is not on a beach. It is on a island. Alcatraz.

Oh, God. The arena is an island prison.

"FREEZE!"

I whirl around to see two girls charging towards me. I recognize them as the girl from 6 and the girl from 9. Retreating from the edge of the roof, they both surround me, one in front and the other behind. And I have no weapon. I am trapped!

In front of me, the girl from 6 pulls a knife. My hunter's ear picks up the notching of a bow behind me. They mean to kill me, so I quickly ask before they can:

"How did you get up here?"

Six's eyes narrow. "Our cell doors wouldn't open. But we found that the air vents at the back of our cells were fake. We crawled out and climbed up here."

So I wasn't the only one who got trapped. I can hear the arrow being drawn back behind me. I decide I will have to do everything I can to save myself. I ask one more question. "Is this really an island, then?"

"Looks that way to us," I hear Nine behind me. "But does it matter? You'll be dead in a minute."

 _Not if I have anything to say about it_ , I think.

I hear the arrow's release and immediately hit the deck. I hear a scream and know that Nine has hit her ally instead. I look up to see Six, the arrow in her stomach, lunging for me. I twist around just before we collide and pull her into a backward roll, before kicking out with my legs. I propel my enemy over my head, over the head of her ally and off the edge of the roof.

And in the commotion, I got my hands on a weapon: Six's knife.

I have barely kick-flipped to my feet when I sense Nine reload. I spin, dodging her arrow as it comes at me. As she desperately grabs for another to reload, I fling my knife. She glances back up, but too late. The blade impales itself into her head and she collapses to the concrete.

BOOM. BOOM. I sink to the roof, overcome with relief. I got myself out of sticky situation, but I am not done yet.

Cautiously, I approach the opposite edge of the roof and peer over. On the rocks below, just behind a chain-link fence, lies the mangled body of the girl from Six.

Then I remember the hovercraft will be coming for the dead. I rush to Nine, prying the bow from her hands, as well as her quiver. She still has plenty of arrows left. Now I feel much better about my chances in these Games.

Hovercraft collect the dead, and I decide to stay on the roof for the rest of the day. That night, the faces of my two kills appear in the sky.

I sigh. I have not gotten hungry quite yet, and I achieved my objective for the moment, which was to get out of my cell. But tomorrow, I know I will have to hunt. Hunt on a small island mostly populated by man-made ruins.

I have escaped the cell house. Now I just need to get _down_ from it.

* * *

 **A/N: For those still recovering from that little twist, Katniss just happened to end up in one of the cells, and followed the escape route, of the 1962 Alcatraz escapees, which is argued to be perhaps the only successful escape from the prison and one of the most intricate jailbreaks in American history. Review, review, review, please!**


	37. Chapter 37: Hang Ten

**Chapter 37: Hang Ten**

The advantage of being out of my cell is that now, I can at least differentiate night from day.

At first light, I rise and begin to examine every side of the cell house roof I find myself stranded on.

Once again, the plumbing becomes the answer to my problem.

I spy a drainpipe and slowly, carefully, shimmy down it to the ground, my weapons on my back. I land on concrete, and right away run into the chain link fence. I quickly scale it, artfully avoiding the rusting barbed wire at the top by swinging my legs wide and over first, then keeping my hands on the opposite side until I have found a good foothold. Then, I retract my hands over, one at a time, and scale down.

There is nothing keeping me now from the shoreline and surrounding rocks, and - keeping my weapons out - I jog down to the water's edge. In a rare patch of grass, I spy a squirrel and quickly shoot it, attaching the morsel to my belt for later.

Suddenly, a wave crashes against the shoreline and douses me, flinging me back onto the rocks. I sit up, dazed.

I know one thing: that was too big a wave for it to be considered natural. When another big wave crashes in the exact same spot, I know for sure: it's a Gamemaker trap, to sweep tributes out to sea!

I scramble along the water's edge, keeping a good distance back while still having to dodge the ocean spray that now seems to follow me. Finally, I spy a clump of trees - probably one of the only spots of foliage on this stinking rock - and retreat into it.

I now begin to calm a little. This isolated patch of forest feels almost like the woods back home. Only the sounds of the crashing waves remind me otherwise. A few hours later, though, even these sounds fade slightly. Two cannons in rapid succession suddenly follow.

I have no idea if those two tributes were claimed by the Gamemaker waves or not, but keeping track of the deaths, I now realize we are at the Final 8. And it's only the third day!

I gather some firewood, and cook the rabbit I killed over a small fire. I do not want to alert any nearby tributes. Eating my meal after stamping out the fire, I watch the sun go down.

Two faces appear in the sky tonight: the boy from 5, and the boy from 10.

Spying a palm tree to my right, I scale the thing until I reach a branch. Removing my light arena jacket, I use its sleeves to tie myself to the branch and trunk.

I go to sleep at last, living and ready to fight another day.


	38. Chapter 38: Feast at the Boat Docks

**Chapter 38: Feast at the Boat Docks**

Next morning, I am roused by the voice of Claudius Templesmith, booming out over the island:

"Attention to our final 8 tributes: there will be a feast today at noon. It will be held at the prison boat docks. We plan to be…. generous hosts."

I frown and think back to the other day atop the cell house roof. When gathering my bearings, I had noted the boat docks in the distance.

But I had climbed down the drainpipe on the _opposite_ end of the roof.

Then, the Gamemaker waves probably chased me what I judge to be about a quarter of a way around the island. That would leave me maybe another quarter of the island to cross before I reach the boat docks.

I have no idea how many miles my rough guesstimation will be; but it must be very conservative; from what I could gather, the island is not very big.

I leave my palm tree and step out of the forest patch, heading what I think is east, towards the docks.

As I go, I begin to formulate a plan: with the Final 8, there are the six Careers, myself, and one other tribute. I can't remember which gender, or from what district. I'll figure it out later.

The sun is almost to its highest position in the sky when I spot the dilapidated boat docks in the distance. This must have been the place where prisoners were let off after being ferried over. Tethered to the structure is the rusted shell of what must have been one of those ferries. Just ahead of me is a shed-like structure; perhaps that is where prisoners were first screened upon arrival. I duck behind this shed and wait.

At noon, a golden backpack appears on the docks out of seemingly nowhere. I gulp and eye the prize. What valuable supplies must lie inside!

Suddenly, I hear whooping, and look up to see the entire Career pack running down from the front entrance to the prison cell house. I shrink into the shadows behind my little shed. No, they haven't seen me. Just the golden backpack. The whole horde stops just in front of it. One girl - the girl from District 4, I'm pretty sure - holds up a hand and glances around. She must be the leader.

"Any sign of the District 7 girl? Or Baby Mama?" she asks at large.

I scowl, as it's clear by _Baby Mama_ , she means me.

The other Careers shake their heads No. The District 4 girl sighs. "All right, then."

It happens so fast, I almost don't believe it. Whipping out two blades known as Dao (I recognize them from training), she reverse-thrusts them into the chests of the two smallest Careers behind her - her district partner and the girl from 2. Both keel over dead and two cannons boom.

In the commotion, the District 4 girl has rushed forward and grabbed the backpack, holding it aloft. Her allies, the District 1 tributes and the boy from 2, are now armed to the teeth.

"Looks like the alliance is over," the boy from 2 says.

He charges with his saber, but District 4 spins and lashes out, drawing blood across his stomach. He stumbles back in surprise before falling flat on his back. The District 1 boy now charges forward, but Four sidesteps so that he rushes past her. At the last second, she seizes him by his jumpsuit and then flings him into the hull of the rusted ferry. There is an ominous crack, and I just know he is dead.

BOOM. BOOM.

Four and the District 1 girl now circle each other, the latter holding what I identify as a Roman Gladius.

"Give me the backpack, Tess," District 1 orders.

"Not on your life! You want it? Come and get it."

District 1 is smarter than her male counterparts. She charges, but manages to jump back and avoid Tess's swipe with the Dao. As District 1 reaches for the backpack, however, Tess tosses it to the side and out of reach.

A moment of disbelief is all she needs. Tess spins about and slices the Dao across District 1's throat. The girl falls dead, followed by one last cannon.

While all of this has been going on, I have quickly formulated a plan. I silently ready my bow and arrow.

Silence reigns as Tess walks to the discarded golden backpack. She faces away from me. Without hesitation, I pull back the string and fire.

Tess barely starts to turn before my arrow's tip plunges through her stomach and out the other side.

The last Career falls to her knees. The backpack is feet in front of her. Cautiously, I emerge from behind the shed and approach.

But not cautiously enough. I have forgotten that a cannon has not fired. As I pass by the kneeling girl, she suddenly lashes out with her Dao.

I jump back, just in time to avoid a fatal blow, but not before one blade has sliced my thigh. Next second, I have loaded an arrow and shot Tess in the head at close range. She collapses.

BOOM.

I now limp towards the golden backpack and pick it up. _Stupid! What a stupid thing for you to do! You should have waited until she died!_ , I scold myself. Remembering that the District 7 girl could appear at any moment, I toss the backpack over my shoulder, pick up Tess's Dao blades for safekeeping, and retreat back into the cell house.

Once inside, I find myself in a large thoroughfare, flanked on either side by cell blocks. Both have signs nailed to the second-floor catwalks; to my right is B-Block, to my left is C-Block.

I frown. The Cornucopia is not on the floorspace here, between these two blocks. Maybe there are other cell blocks spread further out within the cell house. I'll find it soon enough.

But first, I have to take care of this thigh. I lean against the wall and examine the wound. It is somewhat deep, but not by too much. Good thing I won the golden backpack. I dump it on the floor and open its contents. Three water canteens, a packet of steak, a crossbow, a spool of thread, and the parts for a tent.

But no medicine.

I huff and instinctively cast my eyes upward. Please let there be a sponsor...

A minute later, I see a parachute float down from a gaping hole in the cell house ceiling. Strange. I didn't notice that when I accessed the roof the other day. I snatch the gift up. Yes! Inside is medicine, along with gauze, and also a note:

 _Put this salve on your wound. Then wrap the gauze around it; it will act like a tourniquet and staunch the bleeding. Nice going at the feast! You can do it! I love you. Our baby loves you. ~ Peeta_

I smile as I think of my beloved, as well as my child. I wonder how they are doing, watching me fight for my life. Fight for them. I just hope I win so I can see them again.

All that stands between me and that happy future is one last kill….

* * *

 **A/N: Contrary to what you might think, I have never actually been to Alcatraz. Tours are super expensive and you have to book it like a year in advance! Aerial images of the island as well as floor plans of the Cell House helped me maintain accuracy.**

 **Also, special thanks to those who have reviewed so far, particularly IgNighted and ZhiZhu. You guys are awesome! Thanks!**


	39. Chapter 39: Lighthouse Battle

**Chapter 39: Lighthouse Battle**

On Day 5 in the arena, I wake up not to sound, but to the cold feeling of water.

The gaping hole in the cell house roof has a waterfall of water rushing into it. The liquid is already coming up to my ankles.

Oh my holy God. Alcatraz is flooding!

I turn back to escape out the front doors of the cell house, but they are stuck tight. Damnit! I begin to run blindly up the main thoroughfare between Blocks B and C. About halfway down, I see a narrow passageway splitting each block neatly in half. I randomly choose the one splitting C-Block and rush down it.

I now emerge into another thoroughfare. And there's the Cornucopia. The sign on the catwalk ahead tells me this is D-Block.

The water is now up to my thighs. I have an idea.

Remembering roughly where I started the Games, I rush for the metal spiral staircase and race up to the second floor catwalk of D-Block. I go cell by cell, until I see one with a fake air vent knocked aside. Knowing the door is locked, I take one of Tess's Dao and hack the lock off. I jam my shoulder into the door, and it gives. I have broken back into the cell!

Now I have to break out of it….. again. I frantically crawl through the hole and into the utility corridor. I grab the plumbing and rapidly scale it like a monkey. I'm on the indoor roof of D-Block now. There's the fan ventilation shaft. I only have to jump once to reach the bar now, and I haul myself through the gap and onto the cell house roof.

I am in biblical, torrential rain. No wonder the prison was flooding! Blinking back the droplets, I search wildly for anything that might be higher ground. I can't stay here, the whole island is probably getting inundated!

A sudden flash of lightning reveals to me a place: the island lighthouse! And it's close enough to…..

Thank goodness I still have the backpack! Remembering the string inside, I dig it out. Attaching it to an arrow, I fit the weapon to my bow and line up the shot. I fire.

Even in the rain, I hear a dull, but loud thud as my arrow contacts the lighthouse. I give the string a tug. It's sturdy. Hurry!

Finding the drainpipe I scaled down earlier, I lash the rest of the spool to it. My bow, quiver and the backpack strapped to my back, I then begin to climb, hand over hand, along the string. Finally, I clamber onto the tippy-top of the lighthouse.

I have just finished catching my breath when I hear a clang.

And through the rain, I see her. The girl from 7 hauling herself onto the lighthouse roof. My last enemy. As soon as she stands, she sees me.

I whip out my bow and an arrow. She arms herself with an ax. Of course. District 7. Lumber. We begin to circle each other like wolves.

"You really want to do this, Twelve? No way you're winning! I've struggled too long!" Seven shouts.

"Well, so have I!" I roar back. "I'm sorry, but I have a family to get home to!"

"We all have families, Twelve! Just because you're sleeping with last year's Victor, doesn't mean it's all about you!"

Her comment angers me. How dare she think I'm some selfish bitch after what I've sacrificed!

Seven raises her axe. I quickly fire.

I miss; Seven sidesteps just at the last second.

But it turns out that sidestep is all I need.

Slipping on the slick metal, Seven's arms flail. Before I can do anything, she falls backward and plummets off the lighthouse with a scream.

I stare at the place where she vanished, too stunned to move. BOOM.

Amidst the howling of the rain, I hear trumpets blast and then Claudius Templesmith's voice can be heard screaming over the gale to announce my victory:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 76th Annual Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen of District 12!"

It's over. I won. I will get to see my precious family once more. The Capitol can't split us apart ever again.


	40. Chapter 40: Man and Wife and Child

**Chapter 40: Man and Wife and Child**

I am pulled from my island arena, checked over by doctors for any injuries, and then released to my stylists so they can make me Capitol-pretty again. The next night is my interview with Caesar.

Unlike last year, Peeta and Riley are there to greet me when I walk onstage. Peeta pulls me to him by one hand and kisses me with all the passion he can muster. I close my eyes in blissful contentment and return his kiss. The audience goes berserk. When we break apart at last, I get to take Riley in my arms and rock her. Irrepressible joy is on her face as her tiny hands swat at my cheek, elated to have her mommy back again.

Peeta and Riley get to stay with me for my whole interview, and I am so grateful to be able to cling to them while my Games replays in full. Not every Victor has had such a luxury as that. In fact, none have.

Before I know it, the Victory Crown has been placed on my head by a clearly displeased, yet subdued President Snow, and my family and I are homeward bound to District 12.

* * *

It has been three months since I returned from the Games. In the Victor's Village house that Peeta, Riley and I all share, I check myself in the mirror one final time.

The white gown is strapless, made of a simple satin that hugs closely to my figure. Of course, the Capitol is upset that my dress is not as ostentatious as their tastes would like, but today is not about them. It's about me and Peeta.

Peeta and I discussed our wedding almost soon as we arrived home, and we quickly agreed that only a simple ceremony would do. We would go to the Justice Building, sign the papers. Absolutely no reporters allowed; the only guests would be Mother, Prim, Haymitch, Riley and Peeta's family.

Mother emerges from the bathroom. Her eyes fill with tears at the sight of me. "You look beautiful."

I turn back to my 18-month old daughter sitting on her parents' bed and strike a pose. "What do you think, Riley?"

My precious child makes the sounds that precede talking, but they are clearly ones of approval. Her father and I are anxiously awaiting when her first word will come, or what it will be.

I smile and scoop her up in my arms, touching noses with her. "Come on. Let's get me married to Daddy."

To avoid the paparazzi, we slip out the back of my house and just into the woods, walking along the edge of the treeline until we can see the rear of the Justice Building. Mother, Riley and I slip in through a back door and are led to the Clerk's office. The others, as well as a holy man, wait for us.

Passing Riley off to Prim, I approach my soon-to-be husband. He has eyes only for me, and I for him. The biggest smile lights his face.

"You look like an angel," he whispers to me, and I blush.

At the clerk's prompting, we sign the papers. Then, the holy man performs a brief ceremony where we exchange rings and then he blesses us.

I never intended to marry, or even have children, but as I look into Peeta's eyes, all the doubts that I ever carried about having a family are wiped away. _We'll make it work. Somehow._

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The holy man nods to Peeta. "If you like, you may kiss the bride."

I grip my simple bouquet a little tighter. Next second, Peeta pulls me into his arms and we lose each other, for one shining moment, in kissing each other, affirming our vows.

And when his lips draw away from mine, I am no longer who I once was. I am now Katniss Everdeen Mellark.

Of course, we had to placate the rest of the District, not to mention the Capitol, somehow. That evening, a huge Toasting is held, during which Peeta and I burn bread and then share it, sealing it with a kiss. Though the tradition is more raucous than most, I can't say I mind. Besides, no in Twelve feels truly married until they have done a Toasting.

* * *

 _I have the strangest feeling that I've been here before. In my blue Reaping dress, I find myself walking to Cray's house, only this time it's raining. The deluge of water keeps my hair matted down. Crying at what I must do, yards away from the Head Peacekeeper's door, light suddenly blinds me._ _I jump in fright, my body tightening like the animals that I hunt when they prepare to flee._

 ** _"Katniss?"_** _the voice is gentle, and even against the harsh light from the kitchen beyond, I stare with dead eyes into the face of Peeta Mellark. Not him again! He is smiling softly, as if he is pleased to see me._ _ **"What are you doing out here?"**_

 _He looks me up and down, and suddenly the smile is gone from his face. He sees the dress, the clumsy make-up job, the high boots that don't quite fit on me…._

 _Then his eyes shift down the street and I want to cry. He knows._

 ** _"Katniss, no."_** _he breathes._

 _Now would be the time to run. But I tarry in indecision for a moment too long, and have only just turned when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm._

 ** _"Let me go!"_** _I gasp out, threatening to drown in the tears about to appear in my voice._

 ** _"No, please, no…."_** _Peeta's voice is just as hoarse, and I am startled to wonder if he is crying too. But I don't have much time to find out as Peeta drags me into the alleyway beside his door._

 _We stay in the shadows there, catching our breaths. Only now am I aware that Peeta's hands are about my waist, his fingers brushing the small of my back. The nerves in my fingertips signal to my weary brain that my hands are now pressed against his chest. I stare up into his face, my expression slightly agape._

 _It seems as though we are frozen in time and it allows me to better examine every detail of Peeta Mellark. The blond curls. Strong chin. I peer closer, gazing into his eyes - eyes as blue as a summer sky….._

 _I can feel Peeta drawing closer to me as well. My eyes grow heavy. My mind seems to have switched off, as I cannot find the words to tell myself to stop now before…. we…. kiss…._

 _Our lips are mere inches apart now. I am only just aware that his one hand has now moved and is absentmindedly playing with my braid, when a banging sound breaks the spell around us. Oddly still staying in our awkward embrace, Peeta and I peer around the corner to see Cray's door open, its light illuminating at least half a dozen girls, desperate like myself. The Peacekeeper glances up and down the street furtively. He sees the Mellarks' door left open, but must not think anything of it. I can tell he does not see us. Yet, he stays where he is….. as if he's waiting for something…._

 _My throat catches. Is he waiting for me?_

 _He must be, for after a moment, seeing I am not coming, he sighs and picks the next best girl, swiftly bringing her inside and slamming the door. The other girls stumble off into the night._

 _No. That was my one last chance and now it's gone! I won't come home with a bag full of coins for Mother and Prim. We will starve. We will die. My baby will die…_

 _Now the spell is really broken, as I push against Peeta's chest angrily; he readily lets me go._ _ **"What do you think you were doing?"**_ _I hiss._ _ **"I needed that!"**_

 _Peeta shakes his head determinedly._ _ **"Katniss, Cray is the last thing you need. Trust me."**_

 ** _"How would you know?"_** _I bite accusingly, and to me, it is more than a fair question. How would he know? He doesn't know what's it like to starve. To feel there are no options left._

 ** _"Oh, believe me, I do. I've seen the girls leaving his place after their 'visits.' He's a monster." _**_And I have never heard such venom in Peeta's voice, a boy known for his kind and sweet reputation._

 _Terror fills me, and I almost want to interrogate him for more details. What has he seen, coming out of that wretched house? Girls limping? Bloodied? Bruised? The only fear outweighing Cray's touch would have been what I felt like afterwards, or what might have been done to cause it._

 ** _"Wait here,"_** _and Peeta suddenly leaves me to go back inside, through the bakery door that leads to the alleyway. After a minute, he returns with a bag full of coins and presses it into my hand. I stare at it dumbly._

 ** _"Take it,"_** _he prompts, trying and failing to snap me out of my shock. I soon do, as my face hardens in indignation. I am reminded of Peeta coming to my defense in school and it only fuels my anger._

 ** _"Do you think I want your pity?" _**_I spit. He blinks, perplexed._ _ **"I don't need you to save me!"**_ _I attempt to fling the money back at him, but Peeta stays my hand, forcing me to drop it to my side. His eyes are pleading._

 ** _"Katniss, if you won't help yourself, at least let me help you!"_** _He begs._ _ **"I won't let you die!"**_

 _I can only stare at him. Then, suddenly, before I can react, Peeta hands cup my face and he presses his lips to mine in a firm kiss._

 _I let out an astonished, violent squeal into his mouth, but he merely encircles one hand about my waist, the other at my head, and pulls me flush against him. Only now do I try to push him away, when I clearly can't. His embrace of me is too strong._

 _I decide throwing the money bag at him might give me enough chance to get away. Yet before I can, the hand at my waist has snuck up to my wrist, staying my hand._

 _As Peeta's lips kiss my own, with a gentle persistence , I suddenly begin to feel something building. A fire, rising up through my core, my stomach. But it does not burn me. Only….. heats me._

 _And connected to this burning sensation is one thought, a logical one, the_ _only_ _one: I don't want the kiss to stop. I want more of them, and I want them from Peeta._

 _It is frightening conclusion, new and unfamiliar, but all at once, I decide to accept it wholeheartedly._

 _My fingers unclench from the money bag, and it falls into the mud._

 ** _"Hmmmmm….."_** _My eyes droop closed and my arms go about the man before me. My hands stroke, caress, his fine blonde hair. My lips twitch back into his, mold themselves against his, as at last I kiss him back._

 _Realizing I am not pulling away, Peeta's hands boldly go to my thighs. He hoists me into the air and I let out a surprised squeak, tempered by his lips crushing mine. All I can do is fold my legs around his waist as he supports me._

 _His oh so gentle hands now slink up my creamy thighs, curve back the hem of my dress. My mother's garter rests there, and he reverently removes it, letting it fall into the mud alongside the moneybag._

 _Before I can blink, that same hand is within my panties, touching my most precious of spots. His fingers make my clit come alive as he thumbs the nub there tenderly, and then faster._

 ** _"Uhmmmmmmm….."_** _I moan like a Capitol whore and roll my hips brazenly into his hand. The motion makes my intention clear: I want to engage in the most sacred act between man and woman. I want to make love to this man._

 _Soaking wet in the rain, Peeta shifts me in his arms and carries me, bridal-style, down a fleet of stone steps, into the heart of the bakery….._

* * *

 _The rain is still pounding heavily outside the window. Suddenly, within, a hand slaps the glass pane, before slipping down to leave a print behind._

 _Down in the basement of the Mellark bakery, my hands are grasping for anything and everything as Peeta makes sweet love to me atop bags of flour. We are naked, sweaty in each other's arms, our sopping wet clothes cast aside behind us. Peeta and I break our deep kiss and stare into each other's eyes._

 ** _"Put your hands on me, Peeta,"_** _I whisper plaintively. I let him fondle my breasts, squeeze them. Soon his lips replace his hands upon my nipples. I arch into him, mouth dropping open into an embarrassing moan._

 _"Yes, yes, yes…" I wheeze, as Peeta simultaneously slides his member in and out, in and out, of my vagina. His hands grip my hips as he picks up the pace, pounding into me while nursing at my breasts like an infant. The heat of our union, the pleasure is so intoxicating, I want to scream._

 _At last, I let out an airy wail as I orgasm….._

* * *

I can feel my juices pumping, pulsing from me as I emerge into the conscious world. Shit!

Of course it was a wet dream! Although I wish it had been otherwise, Peeta's and my first time together was not that….. dreamy.

I leap out of bed and rush into the bathroom, where I strip and step into the shower. As I cleanse myself, I have time to think.

Thank goodness Peeta was not in bed with me just now. He had to stay late at the bakery tonight, and just spent the night with his parents. He had called, telling me to not wait up for him.

I'll just launder our sheets and my soaking pajamas and he won't be the wiser. It's about time we changed the sheets anyway.

Then, one other, more consequential thought enters my mind. My dreaming, fantasizing of my husband makes me realize:

I want to make love to him again.

I want to have a child with him. One that is his in every sense, biology and genetics included.

* * *

That very next November morning, when Peeta comes home, the bed has already been made and everything made as it was. Taking him into our room, I push him flat onto his back and deftly move to straddle him. I unbutton his shirt and push his pants down to his ankles. He now lies in all his beautiful glory before me, at my mercy. My husband smirks naughtily.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I missed you," I smile, kissing him tenderly. "And I've been thinking…. let's make a baby."

Peeta bursts out laughing. "You're being so forward. I love it!" he adds so I don't misunderstand his reaction as mockery.

I kiss along his jawline. "Which gender do you want?" I whisper in his ear.

"I don't make the rules, sweetheart," he cracks. "But if I could pick, I want a boy. One of each. Riley could have a little brother!"

"Then what are we waiting for, Mr. Mellark! Let's create our son!"

Peeta skillfully slips my nightgown over my head, revealing my nakedness. Squirming on top of him, I skillfully guide him inside of me and begin to bounce on him. As I suckle his Adam's apple, then his chin and finally his lips, my one hand finds the sheets which I now drape over us as we consummate our most precious ritual: sleeping together as man and wife…..

* * *

It doesn't take long for us to conceive. Within weeks, I feel the nausea return. Peeta buys a test in town. On Christmas Day, I discover I am pregnant…. with a little boy, just as Peeta wanted.

Our family will be a little bigger, a little more blended…..


	41. Chapter 41: Rape

**Chapter 41: Rape**

It is a cold February morning, just after Valentine's Day. I am six, seven weeks along in my second pregnancy, a baby bump just beginning to show.

I am just coming home from a long day at school. Though I would normally be graduated by now, I missed almost a year of schooling while I was carrying Riley. The teachers said that I could forgo completing my education, given my new Victor status, but I don't mind. If nothing else, I want to install in my children the value of education.

As I am entering the Slag Heap, two figures suddenly emerge into the path in front of me. I recognize them at once. Axel and Coal.

"Well, if it isn't Katniss Everdeen!" Axel drawls. "Whatcha doing out here, pretty lady?"

I stiffen, not liking at all the way he addresses me. "It's Katniss Mellark now."

"Ah," Coal nods, and begins to circle around me. I tense even more. "I never thought you were the kind of woman who wanted to be…. tied down."

I shrug. "I've changed."

"I can see that," Axel sneers, leering at my pregnant belly. He steps closer. "Who's the father this time?"

"My husband."

"Peeta? So, what, you just gonna have a kid by every man in the district?"

"No," I scowl. "Just him from now on."

Axel and Coal look at each other. "Shame," they chorus.

I don't have time to run. They both grab me. I kick and scream and flail, but they are too strong together. I feel myself bumped up against a pile of trash.

Coal holds me down while Axel begins to hike up the end of my dress. I thrash wildly, doing everything in my power to get them off of me. I panic. _My God, they are going to actually rape me! The baby! What about the baby?_

I feel cool air rush around my folds as Axel pulls down my panties. I can't look, even as I fight with everything I have.

Moments later, I feel an unwelcome organ slam into me. "Ahhhh!" I scream out in pain, but soon my voice is muffled by Axel slamming his lips down on mine in a very sloppy kiss. I viciously slap his face in a brief instant of partial freedom before Coal holds down my arm again.

Axel thrusts in and out of me violently. I clench my legs as tight as I can. I refuse to cum for him. I refuse…..

 _He_ does, though. Axel explodes inside of me with a violent twitching. I feel the intruder leave me. But a moment later, yet another invasion of my womanhood begins.

Coal is now on top of me, pounding into me so hard, my body violently shakes. I begin to squirm again, trying to break free. Coal kisses me roughly, and I seize my chance. I bite down on his lips hard with my teeth. As soon as he springs away, I scream:

"PEETA! PEETA!"

More juices touch my nerves as Coal now ejaculates inside me. He pulls out. Tears are now streaming down my face. God, will this ever stop?

But nothing else lays siege to my sexual areas. Instead, I hear cries, yells, sounds of punches being thrown. Then:

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY WIFE, YA BASTARDS! YOU EVER TOUCH HER AGAIN, I'LL KILL YA LIKE I KILLED IN THE GAMES!"

My body deflates and I weep, overcome with relief. Peeta….. Thank God…..

Sounds of running feet fade into the distance. I feel hands on me, then I sense I am being lifted, cradled like a baby. I turn my head to see the most beautiful sight I've ever beheld: my beloved husband, his face frantic with worry.

"R-rape….." I get out.

"I know, my love, I know. They're gone. Oh, God! Let's get you to your mother."

He races me out of the Slag Heap, towards the Victor's Village. I keep my eyes fixed on his face - the one constant in a ripped reality. His brow is furrowed in determination and fury, but the rest of his face is tinged with a resigned sadness….

If only I had known what he was thinking then. I would have understood why.

* * *

 **A/N: Just when you thought it was all getting better…. I bet you forgot about Axel and Coal. They last appeared in Chp. 3 and were only mentioned in Chp. 6…..**

 **We will pause here for now. The next two chapters at least are going to be very involved, and I want to do right by them. But don't worry - we are very close to the end! And please - don't forget to REVIEW!**


	42. Chapter 42: Welcome to Existence

**Chapter 42: Welcome to Existence**

Soon after Riley turns two, in mid-March, I hold my Victory Tour.

It's late, I know. Peeta had his in winter. The Capitol was gracious enough to postpone it for me once they found out I was pregnant. Now through my first trimester, the baby is healthy enough where strenuous traveling is permissible.

The Tour is fine, and I put on a good enough show. My Victory Party in the Capitol is the hard part. Peeta helps me through it.

In the middle of the festivities, Effie finds me in the crowd. "Katniss, dear, there is someone waiting to meet you."

Peeta's expression is blank, unreadable. I nod to him. "I'll see you in a minute." I follow Effie into a corridor of the Presidential Palace, and she shows me into a room.

I am surprised by what I find. A pudgy man sits on a sofa near a fireplace. Standing in the center of the room is a man who makes my blood boil in rage. Cato Ludwig, the Career from District 2 who killed Gale.

"Ah, there you are, Mrs. Mellark," the pudgy man drawls. "We've been waiting for you."

I approach Cato slowly, making sure he sees the glare on my face. He just smirks. "Hello, Girl on Fire."

I do not respond. Dead silence in the room.

"Well, don't just stand there!" Pudgy Man suddenly orders. "Go on and fuck already!"

I whirl on him, my mouth dropping open. "Excuse me?! I'm a married woman! You're out of your damn mind!" The order is bad enough. That he wants me to do it with the murderer of my eldest child's father -

"And I am also a paying customer!" Pudgy Man booms. "You two fuck NOW!"

Then he drops the bomb: "Or your husband and the little brat will suddenly be in a lot of pain."

No. They wouldn't dare! I whirl back towards Cato, threatening to explode like a volcano. Neither of them can just expect me to betray my marriage vows like this! And with this little…..

I grab Cato's shirt. His eyes widen in fear for the briefest instant before I crash his lips to his. I lick my way into his mouth in no time at all. My fingers sink into his blond curls, and I register they are not nearly as luscious as Peeta's. Only I don't just sink my fingers there. I sink my nails down into his scalp. Cato lets loose a groan into my mouth, and I can't tell if it's out of pleasure or pain. Frankly, I don't care.

Quicker than lightning, I back him up into the bed until he falls back onto it, taking me with him. I pin him to the mattress like I would pin one of the kills on my hunt and quickly bestride him. I tear at his clothes, eager to tear at his shitty little flesh, throwing the garments this way and that. I am disgusted when I see his fat member bobbing back and forth like a Bobo Doll. So unattractive!

"Suck…. suck me off!" Cato moans.

I pause for the briefest instant. The only man's cock I have tasted is that of my husband. It is the one sexual gift I have uniquely given to him, and him alone.

Then again, who said that sucking this loser's dick had to be pleasant?

I latch my mouth around Cato's cock and begin to suck. Violently. This time, though, I draw my teeth along the flesh there, making sure he feels pain. The pathetic sounds he is making tells me it's working.

"Ohhhh! Uhhhh! Uhhhh!" and it is debatable whether he is enjoying this. I smirk in sadistic satisfaction. As soon as he bursts in my mouth, I spit the wretched thing out of my mouth and proceed to come down on him.

But I don't just come down. I belly flop on his dick, and the yelp Cato now gives is very clearly one of pain. Immensely pleased with what I am eliciting from him, I continue to bounce up and down on the loser. Thank goodness I am already pregnant and have been taking the Pill to boot.

At last, with a roar, Cato cums inside me. I collapse on him so hard, the bed quakes. At least I didn't cum for the bastard. I did what Pudgy Face told me to do while still keeping myself in the driver's seat.

In a twisted way, Pudgy Face looks pleased with what I have displayed. "Angry sex? You do that with Peeta, Katniss?"

I don't answer him. It's none of his damn business.

Pudgy Man leaves the room. As soon as he's gone, I practically somersault off of Cato and begin to throw on my clothes without even looking at him.

Only now does guilt wash over me. What have I just done? I defiled my marriage bed, committing the greatest act of betrayal I could against my spouse. I sigh, holding back the tears, and square my resolve. I will just have to tell him, then, and pray he forgives me.

Fully dressed, I stalk out of the room.

"Katniss, wait!"

I spin around to face Cato. "What do you want?" I snap.

Strangely, there is no smugness on this hated enemy's face now, only what must be, at least to him, sincerity. "What was that all about? Why were you so violent in there?"

"You don't know?" I ask accusingly, baring my teeth. When no answer is forthcoming, I spit, "You killed my first love."

Cato shrugs calmly, as if I had just accused him of stealing a cookie from a cookie jar. "It's possible. I killed a lot of people in that arena."

"So many that you don't even remember the kill that made you Victor?" I seethe.

Something clicks in his mind. "Ah! I remember this lover of yours, I think. This would have been the hunter from 12, yes?"

Anger has deflated from me at his description of Gale, and I mourn for my daughter's father all over again. I nod.

"He died well. That should please you. No bribe attempts or blubbering."

"I know how he died, Career, I watched the footage myself…." I growl warningly, my temper threatening a resurgence.

"Then you might as well thank me. I did your boyfriend a favor. He died before he discovered what you _really_ are."

"And what am I?" I challenge, my anger back in full. But Cato gives as good as he gets.

"Faithfulness is what makes a relationship work, madame, enduring faithfulness! Now tell me truly: when you found out he was dead, did you couple with Mellark within the hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

"YOU MOCK MY PAIN!" I scream at him.

"LIFE _IS_ PAIN, EVERDEEN!" Cato roars back. "Anyone who says differently is selling a bill of goods."

"WELL, NEVER MOCK ME AGAIN! PART OF ME _DIED_ THAT DAY! And you can die too, for all I care!" With that, I turn on my heel and leave Cato in my wake.

* * *

I burst onto the 12th floor of the Tribute Training Center.

"PEETA JOSEPH MELLARK!"

My husband comes running, Haymitch right on his heels. I eye them both with a look of pure stone.

"So, that's it, then? Along with mentoring, I'm expected to betray my marriage vows by fucking every other Victor or Capitol sleaze who comes along? _Why didn't you tell me?_ " I have no idea whether my husband knows of this arrangement or not, but his blank look and silence - his signature stance whenever we have gotten into a bad fight - is all the prove I need. He's aware.

Haymitch speaks up, obviously not amused by my rantings. "We didn't tell you about the whoring because you didn't need to know. It would have been better if the President met with you."

"BULLSHIT, HAYMITCH!" I shriek. Then, I read into his words. "Wait…. what do you mean, 'the President meet with me'?"

Peeta sighs. "Before going home, every new Victor is required to meet with the President. There, he tells you that he expects you to entertain anyone in the Capitol who has the money. You refuse, he threatens those you love."

"He didn't meet with me after my Games," I point out quietly.

"He couldn't. What with your wedding coming up and all, it wouldn't have looked good," Haymitch explains. "It was also the real reason your Victory Tour was postponed."

I pause, considering this. Still in a snit, I turn back to Peeta.

"So, who have you fucked already then, _honey_?" I drawl, my voice sickly sweet. "Who have you cheated on me with?"

Peeta's eyes narrow. "First of all," he gets out, his voice dangerously low, "I did not cheat. And neither did you! Neither of us have any choice! Second, I had to sleep with Johanna Mason on my Victory Tour. Then a Capitol lady so I could get the money for your sponsor gift in the arena."

My head snaps to Haymitch. "And who's had to crawl between your legs?" I sneer.

Haymitch scowls. "Nobody, sweetheart. When I met with Snow all those years ago, I still called the old fart's bluff after he threatened my family. Then, he killed them all. With no leverage left over me, along with the fact that I was already drinking heavily, I was propped up as an example of disobedience and left alone. The. Fucking. End."

I stare at him, my eyes suddenly wanting to fill with tears. "Oh, Haymitch…. I'm so sorry…."

He waves me off. "Save it. Both of you - go to bed. And you both better be alive when I come get you in the morning!"

Peeta and I retreat to our chambers, spending the whole night with our backs to each other. Absolutely no sex whatsoever. There's been enough of that for one day.


	43. Chapter 43: Open Marriage (Kind Of)

**Chapter 43: Open Marriage (Kind Of)**

"Ummmmm…. ahhhhh…"

I moan, trying to act like I'm enjoying myself as Finnick Odair rolls me onto my back while we kiss. I feel him settle on top of me and grind up against my thigh.

It's summer now, and I am in the middle of mentoring the 77th Annual Hunger Games. I am also nearly six months pregnant, so navigating around a bed is getting harder, especially with the line of work I, as a Victor, do by night.

Finnick sinks his admittedly gorgeous member into my vagina and begins thrusting at an ever-increasing pace. His hands seize my hips so we can steady ourselves.

"Oh… OH…. Finnick!" I warble. "Go, faster, harder….." Though the sex does sometimes feel nice, I have taken to sticking to a script of phrasing while making love. Keep up the act, you know?

"Grrrrr!" Finnick drops onto my pregnant belly as he ejaculates deep within me.

"Hey, brainless! Come over here! It's my turn."

I nudge Finnick off of me so I am now in the middle, and I crawl over to Johanna Mason. We kiss, her tongue slipping into my mouth with ease. My hands palm her breasts - tinier than mine, I observe with some satisfaction - while I grind my vagina against her own to get her wet.

At last, Johanna flips me flat onto my back and straddles my knees. Her face disappears between my folds and I feel her lips, her tongue, gnaw at my cunt. My jaw goes slack.

"Oh my God… OH MY GOD!" I smash her face in between my hands to keep her there and begin to buck unapologetically into her mouth.

"Hmmmmmm…." Johanna purrs, and her sensual sounds knock me over the edge.

"Ahhhhh!" I scream, blasting my juices all over her face. Johanna licks the deluge of fluid off her face calmly before kissing me one last time, so I can taste myself. When we break apart, her lips hover over my ear.

"That was for being a naughty girl and killing my tribute last year."

I whimper and nod. Somehow, I suspected Johanna was that kind of lover. Not overtly angry, just….. controlling.

"Ohhhhh!" Finnick moans as he cums again, having masturbated furiously to two gorgeous women having sex with each other.

We look as one to our patron, who nods, a pleased smile telling us we have done our jobs. He leaves us alone to change and we scramble out of bed to grab our clothes.

I feel the prick of salt, not from cum, but from tears, at my eyes and try to keep it at bay. In the three months of doing this…. prostitution, the guilt and shame has gotten easier. But it's never gone completely away.

Unfortunately, my rare emotional vulnerability has not gone unnoticed by Finnick. In getting to know him, I have come to realize he has a much more sensitive side about him in private.

"Katniss," he tells me gently. "You don't have to be embarrassed about doing this while you're still pregnant. Has Peeta ever told you that you _glow_ during pregnant sex?"

I give him a watery smile. "He told me I glowed once, while I was carrying Riley."

Finnick smiles. "There. You see? There is no shame in how you look. Why,…." He pauses. "I have someone who I love just as much as Peeta loves you. And I can only hope that when we get pregnant, she will glow as much as you do during love-making."

I pat his hand. "Thank you, Finnick."

"Well, if you two don't mind, I'm going to let myself out," Johanna sighs. "I'm still on the clock."

I stare. "You have another appointment?"

She smirks. "Back-to-back threesomes are the worst, aren't they?"

I wouldn't know. Thankfully, I have not been booked in such high demand, yet. "Who with?"

"Cashmere Ritchson-Schlund. Oh, and your hubby."

I sigh. "Don't do anything with him that I wouldn't do," I tell her.

Johanna chuckles. "Sure thing." And she's gone.

* * *

 **Peeta's POV**

It's nice to not have to start right away. One person late to a threesome allows you to collect your bearings.

I turn back to Cashmere Ritchson-Schlund. "Who's our missing third?"

She glances up from doing her nails. "Johanna."

Oh, good. She's one of the few Victors whose sex is actually bearable. I've always liked hanging out with the axe-grinder from District Seven.

Johanna bursts into the room, slamming the door. "Your wife's cunt tastes heavenly. Have you noticed?"

"Yes, I have, but I didn't exactly need you to tell me that," I deadpan as seriously as I can. It doesn't land; the smirk still crosses my face.

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes and turns away from me. "Unzip?"

I grin good-naturedly and reach for the zipper. By now, this is routine for Johanna and me. As soon as she and I are both naked, she faces me. There's the classic smirk.

"Come here, Lover Boy." When I cheekily don't respond right away, she simply pulls me to her by my dick and kisses me lovingly. I smirk, but kiss back. Johanna rubs me fast and hard, readying me for her and whatever is to come. As soon as I have expanded in her hand to her satisfaction, she shoves me back onto the bed and bestrides my calves.

"Cashmere, honey," she calls. "We're ready for you." I feel the mattress sink a little lower as Cashmere curls into my side.

"Now, my little baker," Johanna hums. "You ever been given a blow job?"

"Only…. by Katniss….." I gasp out. "Our first time together."

"Oooh! Naughty, naughty!" Johanna grins wickedly. "Well, it's about time your dick tasted another woman's…. flavor." With that, she takes me in her mouth. The sight of her lips sealing over my penis's flesh nearly drives me mad.

"Ohhhhhhhh…. Jesus God, Johanna!" I whine. Johanna's lips form a smirk around my shaft. She nods to Cashmere in a way that's almost comical, what with her head bobbing up and down my length.

Cashmere takes my hands in hers. "Time for you to play some." And she guides my palms to her breasts, letting me knead them. Her face dips close to mine. "Kiss me," she whispers. I raise my head ever so slightly to press my lips to hers.

Soon, I keep one hand on Cashmere's breasts while the other fiddles with her vagina. Her hips roll into mine and she lets out an otherworldly "Ohhhhh… Peeta….."

Her juices cascade out of her folds, soaking my hand. Next second, I am flooding Johanna's mouth with my own cum and she greedily chugs it all down.

I lick my fingers clean of Cashmere's remnants as Johanna extracts herself from me. Over on the far couch, our patron applauds.

"That's the way to do it. Very professional. You can show yourselves out." Once he's gone, the girls and I climb out of bed and help each other dress.

"So," Johanna asks as if our rendezvous didn't happen. "How's Riley?"

I frown as I do her zipper. "Probably off to bed soon. Effie will get her down on time."

"How do you know?" Cashmere asks, adjusting the garter underneath her dress.

"Because when I tried get Haymitch to do it, _he_ fell asleep, not her."

Johanna bursts out laughing. "Old Abernathy would do that!" She turns to face me and adjusts my black tie. "Come on. One last fancy dinner for the President and then maybe we can finally chill for once."

"Let's hope," I answer grimly. "The Games' finale will probably be tomorrow."

* * *

At the party, Katniss, Johanna, Finnick and I all hang out together. By now, I think my wife and I have been accepted into the Victor's circle. Many others will come up to us, men like Cato and Brutus shaking my hand, while the women like Seeder and Cashmere gush over Katniss's figure and ask about the impending arrival of Baby Mellark.

I am glad to be with my love and our friends when the President suddenly approaches.

"Mr. Odair, Ms. Mason, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark," he drolls. "Pleasure seeing you all here tonight."

"And you, Mr. President," I answer as politely as I can muster.

"And how have your…. activities been going during the Games?"

I shrug and give a smile. "Well, you know, it's like an open marriage, Mr. President. We sleep around, but Katniss and I always come back to each other. We make it work."

Something dark and dangerous flashes in the President's eyes. "Glad to hear it," but his voice is strangely curt. "Good evening to you all." He whisks himself away abruptly.

I look to the others; they clearly saw what I saw. "What's the matter? Doesn't the old man have a sense of humor?"

Finnick lets loose a mad chuckle and shakes his head. "Peeta. Asking if Snow has a sense of humor is like asking if the Games will ever end. The answer to both is No. The President wants to break you with this whoring thing. The fact that you are able to make a joke out of it means you're not playing his game. But hey, we all have our own ways of coping, so, whatever floats your boat."

I nod and turn my gaze back to where the President disappeared. Have I overplayed my hand? Borne my soul in a way that shows I am more than just a piece in Snow's Games?

I don't know. I just don't know…..

* * *

 **A/N: OK. Now, we are ready for a time jump and a new perspective that isn't Katniss or Peeta. Guess who…..**

 **REVIEW! Please.**


	44. Chapter 44: Who Am I?

**Chapter 44: Who Am I?**

 **Riley's POV**

I skip down the stairs to the kitchen. I can feel the heat radiating from the oven as my father bakes. It's a welcome warmth, given the cold of the winter season. I plop my 12-year-old self down on a stool by the counter.

"Daddy? Can I have a little sister for my birthday?" I ask.

Daddy bursts out laughing, wiping his hands on a tea towel. "Now why do you ask that?"

"I want a sibling who actually looks like me. Zephyr doesn't look anything like me." It's a hard thing to say, but it's true. My 10-year-old kid brother has blonde hair where mine is dark like Mama's. Where I have grey eyes, his are a brilliant blue.

Daddy has gone strangely quiet. A long bout of silence like this does not bode well for what I'm after.

"So?" I press. "Can I have a little sister?"

"Riley," he manages heavily. "I think…. it's time I tell you something I should have told you a long time ago." He kneels down so that I am at his eye level and rubs my arms comfortingly. He suddenly has tears streaming down his face.

I'm deeply concerned. I've almost never seen my Daddy cry. "Daddy?"

"I'm not your Daddy." It comes our rather quickly.

My world stops spinning. That's not possible….. Who else has fed me, dressed me, bathed me, played with me and Zephyr? No one but the handsome man who I have idolized all my life. _He's_ my Daddy….. right?

"But…. how can that be?" I get out.

"You are not mine biologically, Riley. But before I explain, know that you are _mine_ in every other sense. I trust you can understand that. But…. you have to know who you really are." He stands and calls up the stairs: "Katniss!"

My mother comes down. Even when in pajamas and staying in for the day, she still looks so beautiful. Peeta nods. "It's time."

* * *

I sit on the couch in front of the TV as Daddy drops a cassette into the video player. Then, my parents cuddle me close and I lose myself in the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

As soon as the District 12 tributes are introduced, I know who the dark-haired, grey-eyed young man is. My real father. I should feel elated, but the title can scarcely be formed on my lips. It feels alien, still untrue.

I watch as my father, more myth now than man, battles his way through weeks of a forested arena. At last, after he and his ally engage Cato Ludwig in a fierce duel, the District 2 victor I have come to know over the years and my father face off. Cato stabs him through the stomach and the video ends.

Daddy stands silently and ejects the tape. I sit numbly. "Gale Hawthorne…. is my father," I speak slowly, trying to wrap my mind around the concept.

Mama sighs and strokes my back. Her voice is thick. "Now you know."

I stare at her. The thought of my mother loving anyone other than Daddy is frankly absurd. "If I was born nine months after those Games, then how….?"

"I became pregnant with you just before he left," Mama says gently. She nods to her husband. "Daddy helped me through my grief and my pregnancy when I lost your father."

I turn back to Daddy. "But…. my last name is Mellark….."

"We gave you my name so we could protect you," Daddy tells me, his expression so tender I can't help but nod.

"So, what should I call you now?"

"Whatever you like," and Daddy's voice is soft.

I burst into tears and run into his arms. "It's not fair! Just not fair! You deserve some credit, too! You _are_ my Daddy!"

His dry chuckle vibrates against my body. "Riley, this isn't about who gets credit. Unlike the Games, claiming you was never a competition between your father and me. It was just the hand that was dealt. Besides, DNA by itself doesn't make a family. Love does."

I sigh. He's right. I can't afford to be technical. I turn my face up to look at him. "Then…. I will still call you Daddy. You'll _always_ be Daddy to me."

Daddy's tears fall on my upturned face. "Thank you, Riley. I'd like that very much."

I turn back to Mama. "As for Gale….. He'll be….. Father."

Mama nods, and I see her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. "He would have _loved_ that."

I release Daddy and my eyes shift between my parents. "One more thing." I pause. "Can I have your permission to change my last name at the Justice Building? To Hawthorne?"

Mama wordlessly looks to Daddy. It's his decision. And without another thought, he nods.

"Of course."

* * *

A few days later, a clerk allows me to legally change my surname at the Justice Building. Until the day I get married, I will never have it altered again. I am no longer Riley Rose Mellark.

I am Riley Rose Hawthorne.


	45. Chapter 45: First Reaping

**Chapter 45: First Reaping**

"Ssssh… ssssshhh….. only a nightmare….. just a dream….. that's all it was…. you were dreaming….. you were dreaming…." Mama's voice is soothing as I sob into her nightgown.

"It was _me_!" I weep. "It was _me_ that came out of the Reaping Ball!"

"It's your first year, Riley. Your name's only in their once; they're not gonna pick you…." But Mama seems to be convincing herself more than me. She eases me back onto the mattress and pulls the coverlet back up to my chin. Her voice now lilts beautifully as she sings to me the song I've known since I was a baby.

 _"Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…."_

She smiles once she sees I am calm. "You remember that song, right?" I nod and she rises to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"The woods," she says sweetly. "Daddy will be up to get you and Zephyr soon, and then you all will help Grandpa Haymitch over to the Justice Building. But I'll be back and meet you there. I love you."

And she's gone.

* * *

A few hours later, I register with the Peacekeepers for the first time as an eligible Hunger Games contestant. Daddy, Grandpa Haymitch and Zephyr peel off from me with hugs before proceeding to the platform in front of the Justice Building. As Victors, Grandpa and Daddy have to be present and seen so the Mayor can show them off to the whole district. Being still too young for the Reaping, my brother - well, _half-brother_ \- gets to sit behind their chairs. As long as he stays out of sight and keeps quiet, he'll be fine.

By the time Nanny Effie, our District's escort and close friend of my parents, takes the stage to draw the names, Mama has slipped into the seat next to Daddy and given him a sweet kiss.

Nanny Effie reaches for the girl's ball. I close my eyes tight, wondering if the odds are in my favor. Even if they aren't, I send up a prayer: _Father…. be with me._

"Lilac Thigpen!" Nanny calls.

I deflate like a tire. It's not me. It's not me! I barely register the 14-year-old girl taking the stage, or the name of her male counterpart. Soon, the Peacekeepers escort me, my family and the tributes onto the train, as they have done my entire life. Time for another normal trip to the Capitol to see Mama, Daddy and Grandpa's friends.

* * *

 **A/N: Just two chapters left! Ahhhhh! The next one is super long, but the ending will be pretty short. Thanks for all the feedback I've gotten so far, especially from IgNighted, ZhiZhu and IcyClarissa. Y'all are the best! Keep those reviews coming!**


	46. Chapter 46: Last of the Victors

**Chapter 46: Last of the Victors**

The finale of the 87th Annual Hunger Games is probably moments away.

I am sitting in the Mentor's Bar with Grandpa, Mama and Daddy. Zephyr is also with us, playing cards with Mr. Finnick. I am reading a book, since I'm not allowed to have any drinks, just waiting for someone to yell or something and indicate that something is happening. Sure enough, Mr. Brutus suddenly cries out:

"Holy shit! Look!"

I glance up and place my book on the bar. On the monitors in front of us, I can see the girl from District 10, armed with a bow and arrow, sprint to the top of the ruined satellite tower, part of the city remains that make up this year's arena. Two of her allies are with her. Just then, three other tributes surround them. Suddenly, I can see the District 10 girl aim her bow, there's a brilliant flash of light, and then -

The screens turn to black.

"Yo, what's happening?" calls out Mr. Cato. "Turn the screens back on!"

There's a thunderous boom as the door to the bar is kicked in. Peacekeepers storm in, armed with guns. Cato rounds on them. "What the hell? This is Victors Only -"

A guard jams the butt of his gun into Cato's back and knocks him to the ground. There's a scream. I scoot of my stool and run to Zephyr as the bar dissolves into chaos.

I suddenly spy Mama in the crowd. She is struggling with guards.

"Mama!" Her eyes find mine.

"RUNN!" she screams. Then, I see a burst of gunfire and distinctly hear Daddy's scream.

"NO!" I yell as a force bulldozes into me and my brother. We land in a heap under the bar. I smell liquor.

"Crawl!" my grandfather orders, and the unusual seriousness to his voice compels me to obey him. I follow him and Zephyr on all fours to an emergency door. We stand just as Grandpa is opening it.

A body slams into the metal from the other side. I see white plating. Peacekeepers! With unusual agility, Grandpa, slams the door back into place, trapping the guard into the jam so that only his gun arm sticks out. Grandpa moves like a machine, jabbing an elbow through the gap into the guard's face.

"Get back!" he roars, and it's unclear whether he is speaking to the adversary or to my brother and me. Zephyr and I back up, just in case.

It's a good thing we do, for as Grandpa and the Peacekeeper grapple with the gun, the former gets his hands on it. Gunfire sprays into the floor, and I let out a yelp. Grandpa then slams his shoulder into the door while twisting away the gun; I hear the Peacekeeper let out a scream.

POW! POW! POW! Grandpa is now firing down the stairwell beyond the door and there are yells. He soon stops and seizes my brother and me.

"Come on, both of you! This way!" Keeping our heads down, we stumble down the stairwell past the dead bodies of Peacekeepers. Grandpa leads us through a series of twisty passageways until at last, we emerge out onto the street.

The Capitol is in chaos. People are running, screaming, calling for help. I see fires popping up along storefronts. Grandpa spies a limo parked on the sidewalk. Sticking the machine gun into the driverside window, he forces whomever is at the wheel to let us aboard. He ushers me and Zephyr into the backseat.

"Grandpa Haymitch, what's happening?" I cry.

"We need to get out of the city."

 _That doesn't answer my question_ , but I keep my mouth shut. At gunpoint, the driver begins to drive us out of the Capitol until we are backed up in traffic.

"Why have we stopped?" Zephyr whines. Grandpa leans into the front seat to get a better look. His eyes grow wide.

"Shit." He begins to push us to the door. "Out of the car. And stay close!" As soon as we are out of the limo, Grandpa takes Zephyr and I in each hand and we begin to run down the city streets, back the way we have come. I chance a furtive glance back. Just approaching our abandoned limo, I see a familiar face of white hair. Then, a roar, reverberating over the city:

"ABERNATHY!" At the call of his last name, Grandpa begins to drag us along as he runs faster. Spying a random office building, he pushes us inside. We climb stairs until we burst onto a long balcony, running for the railing. Incredibly, when I look behind us, I can see President Snow. Seeing him tailing us is so eerie and inexplicable, you would think he was a ghost.

"1224!" he yells.

We reach the balcony and scramble over. Grandpa drops down first, then Zpehyr and I each fall into his arms. We now run blindly down the maze of alleys and side streets between the Capitol buildings. Sound seems to reverberate around, and I can eerily hear the President's voice echoing. I panic when we reach a dead end. It halts us right beside the Tribute Training Center.

Grandpa is breathing hard. I can hear calls and shouts from Capitol military forces drawing closer; they are clearly looking for us.

Running out of options, Grandpa finds a rope attached to a grappling hook by a dumpster. He lassoes the thing to the side of the Center. Then, with Zephyr and me on his back, he begins to scale the skyscraper. I can hear him grunting and groaning from the Herculean effort.

At last, we reach a narrow stone ledge and pull ourselves onto it. Grandpa makes us all lie flat on our backs so we can see the full moon floating above us.

Footsteps and other noise approach the Center. Then, I hear the frustrated roar of the President: "ABERNATHY!"

Grandpa just closes his eyes shut as if in silent prayer. After a few long, tense moments, the footsteps move away.

* * *

I have no idea what time it is as I follow the remnants of my family through the now eerily quiet city. Trudging along, I frankly don't care. All I know is that it's way past my bedtime. Mama and Daddy -

 _Stop_ , I think to myself. _Don't dwell on them._ _They are in a better place now._

But there is one thing I can't stop dwelling on…. I look to my grandfather.

"Grandpa Haymitch….. what does '1224' mean?"

He takes a long breath before answering me:

"Throughout history, every tribute who has ever competed in the Hunger Games has been given a number, based on the order in which they were reaped. I was the last tribute reaped for the Second Quarter Quell, so my number became 24 x 49 + 48 = 1224."

I quietly digest this. "So…. what was Daddy's number? And Mama's? And Father's?"

Grandpa just smirks. "Well, you've been doing your timetables for school. Do the math."

I calculate in my head. 24 x 74, plus adding an extra 24 because of the double odds in Grandpa's Games, and I get….. a perfect 1800.

Daddy would have then been 1823, as he told me he was reaped second-to-last for his unique Quell.

And Mama….. another 23 makes 1846.

I nod to myself. These numbers at least begin to quantify some closure that I feel will occur someday. Not now, just…. someday.

Suddenly, as we step into a deserted street, a car comes tearing down it and serves to a stop just in front of us. Grandpa throws his arms up, keeping Zephyr and I back. The machine gun he still carries does not have many bullets left, but maybe it will be just enough.

A man with a balding blonde head of hair steps out from behind the wheel. "Haymitch!" he calls. "I come in peace."

Grandpa doesn't move, but I see his body unclench in the harsh glare of the car headlights. "Plutarch?"

"You know whose side I'm on, Haymitch," the Head Peacekeeper placates. "I can be your ticket out of here. You just have to be brave enough to punch it."

Grandpa nods. "In that case….. help us find a safe place. We need…. we need to disappear."

Plutarch nods back and beckons us to the car. "Come with me."

And together, I step with the only family I have left into an uncertain future.

* * *

 **A/N: I know many of you are screaming and sobbing at your computer, "Why? Why? Why?" I get it. But this is not Katniss and Peeta's story anymore. It passes on to the new generation.**

 **Also, Haymitch is the Last of the Victors. I enjoyed having him show of his Bryan Mills/Jason Bourne badass side. With a little bit of Hugh Jackman's fugitive Jean Valjean thrown in.**

 **Review, review, review! Thanks to everyone who has so far!**


	47. Chapter 47: The End

**Chapter 47: The End**

With Plutarch Heavensbee's help, Grandpa Haymitch, Zephyr and I flee to District 13.

A huge war rages over Panem, led by the girl tribute from District 10, that eventually leads to the downfall of the Capitol and the destruction of the Hunger Games forever.

Afterwards, I return with my half-brother and surrogate grandfather to District 12. We live in Victor's Village, where no one bothers us, even after the district's population begins to trickle in or otherwise replenish, little by little.

I am grateful I will never have to experience the arena, yet I still mourn for my parents. For my Mama and Daddy and Father, and what they sacrificed so that our country could be free.

For Zephyr and me, we each carry our own legacy: he the legacy of the Mellarks; I the legacy of the Hawthornes. We are each, in our own way, a child of the Games.

* * *

 **A/N: And that's all folks!**

 **Child of the Games was more than just referring to Riley (and to a far lesser extent, Zephyr), in that they hailed from arena tributes. It was meant to show how tributes who become Victors are essentially birthed in the arena, insomuch as they become different people. They are children of the Games, too.**

 **Thanks for sticking by me! If you want to leave overall final thoughts, please feel free to review!**


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